The Ripple Effect
by Mercedes Watson
Summary: Sequel to One Wild Night. Duncan’s party was only the beginning of a whole new path for the XMen. People change, relationships grow and die, and on the other side, they’ll all come out different. Romy, Kurtty, Jott.
1. Guilt

_Runaway Rogue_  
Chapter 1  
Guilt

"Keep an eye on him, he looks like a goner."

His eyes opened slowly but just a crack though, he couldn't get them any higher than that. Where was he? Why did it seem like he was seeing and hearing and feeling everything as if through water? He couldn't move. There were bright lights over him and people's faces were fading in and out of the light and he knew something was wrong, so very very wrong but couldn't figure out what. Was he dead? Was this heaven? Couldn't possibly be. He would never see that place. Where was he? Why couldn't he move anything? The faces picked him up and moved him before putting him back down. An ever brighter light was shined in his face and everything became enveloped in it until it all became black again.

"Do we have an I.D. on this guy?" One of the ER nurses asked as the doctors prepared to work on the young kid who had just been brought in. She'd remember this for a while; gunshot wounds weren't too common in Bayville.

"Yeah," Another nurse said who had been handed the personal belongings that were removed from the patient's person by the paramedics. "Remy LeBeau, 19 years old, looks like he's from Louisiana."

* * *

Rogue sat on the couch, in her favorite lounging position. Sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging down the other bent and on the cushion. Her one arm rested on her bent knee and the other propped up her upper body and face which had a completely bored and tired expression on it. The Professor wanted to talk to them about what had happened tonight and she was sure he would save a special 'talk' just for her after everyone left. She knew it all by heart. Why did she do this, there were other ways of relieving stress, if she just asked he could help her, and blah blah _blah_. Only one thing was on her mind at the moment and that was finding out where that ambulance that had Remy in it had gone. He didn't have any relatives, no one would claim the body and she wasn't going to let him be buried in some damn pauper's field with a number and a name for a gravestone.

She glanced over at Jean. The older girl was sitting in an armchair, knees hugged up to her chest; she rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but she was no longer crying, just seeming to stare at nothing while a bruise in the shape of a hand print slowly blossomed on her face. Kurt and Kitty were sitting together, Rogue noticed that they were fidgeting, like they wanted to hold hands but weren't too sure of themselves. Scott wasn't pacing as Rogue expected him to be, instead he was standing next to Jean's chair, looming over her like a protective beast of some kind. Once in a while one of the new recruits would try to subtly sneak by, which they weren't successful at. Rogue shot glares at them, scaring them off. She didn't much feel like being gawked at and whispered and pointed at and was pretty sure no one else did either. Finally, about ten minutes later, Ororo and the Professor entered the room. They didn't look altogether mad and yet they certainly weren't happy. The professor spoke first.

"The events that have --"

"Where is he?" Rogue interrupted. She knew the Professor was not in the mood to be interrupted and with her involvement in this while fiasco was probably on the verge of being thrown out. But she did not care. She needed to know if Remy was dead. "Ah know ya know where he is."

"You are in no position to be making demands, child." Ororo spoke for the professor from the other side of Jean's armchair. The air around her seemed to shimmer with barely restrained emotion, harkening back to her days as a goddess; the beauty of it was lost on Rogue. "The professor and I have decided that since you can not be trusted that you will be under my personal supervision and are not to leave this mansion with our express permission and an escort, understand?"

Rogue was not deterred by this new development. "He's at Bayville General, isn't he? That's the only hospital around here that they would take him to. . ."

Ororo's ire seemed to grow with every word that slipped from Rogue's lips. Charles, sensing that this would not do well for the delicate situation at hand, stepped in. "I would highly suggest a policy of silence for the time being." He told Rogue.

It had taken a good bit of negotiating on his part to keep Ororo from taking more drastic measures against Rogue. The silver haired woman cared deeply for Rogue, as she did for all other students, and she was just as frustrated as he was when it came to Rogue's disciplinary problems. But, he had told her, Rogue needed to be dealt with later. There were more pressing matters at hand, like the police wanting to take them all in for questioning about Duncan's death and the accident with Kurt's holo.

The mansion was about to be thrown into a very difficult place and Charles was amazed that all of his precautions and protections that he had put into place had became unraveled in one night. He could not wipe the mind of every resident in Bayville that had been there, statistical fact said that he was bound to miss someone. And it would only take one person to talk to the right person to set off a hysteria that had always seemed like it was lurking around the corner until now. He spoke with the children as he contemplated all this, hearing each one of their individual stories. They did not match in points and those were the spots where they were keeping something from him. He would not pry, deciding that they had all been through enough for one night and knowing that it would all settle out eventually. Later on that night, with a sigh as he went to bed, he already knew that Rogue was breaking the new rules imposed upon her.

* * *

_Escort mah ass_. Rogue thought as she snuck out the window. She had made sure that Kitty was asleep, even going so far as to poke her exposed foot (which had been hanging off the bed) a few times. The valley girl had just mumbled incoherently and rolled over. She hit the ground and stayed in a crouched position, getting her bearings on where all the security devices were at. She took a deep breath, a sudden and huge wave of tiredness coming over her. The incident at school with Remy and the handkerchief seemed like a lifetime ago though not even 24 hours had passed. No time to dwell on that now, she needed to move before one of the cameras swung around and spotted her or she thought something too loud and woke the Professor. Dodging and darting and sprinting and jumping and falling in just the right way got her off the grounds safely. It was ironic that all the skills she needed to sneak out she learned in the Danger Room. It was almost like they were _teaching_ her how to get out of this place.

Rogue started down the street, putting her hands in her pockets with just her thumbs sticking out. She had changed since the party, the clothes feeling oddly dirty and not in the physical sense of the word. She had chosen to change into black jeans, black Converses and a dark blue long sleeved t-shirt that had the Aerosmith symbol stamped on the chest. The streets were eerily quiet this time of night, putting her slightly on edge. Funny how that she didn't feel safe in crowds and at the same time, at nearly 2 am on a desert street, she still didn't feel altogether safe. Rogue laughed at herself; maybe she finally really was going crazy with paranoia. Wouldn't surprise her in the least.

Only a few cars passed her as she walked to Bayville General. Her mind was blank with white noise, thoughts flowing through it like water. Some time later she had walked across the small town and into Bayville General's emergency room. She walked up to the receptionist's desk where a tired looking woman greeted her.

"Can I help you?" she asked Rogue.

"Yeah, do ya have a Remy LeBeau in here?"

"Let me check." The receptionist said and turned to her computer and began typing sporadically at the keys. Rogue waited, hugging her arms to herself. She was tired and a little hungry and needed to sit down. She couldn't stop looking around, her eyes went form one thing to the next, constantly looking around. She was sure that she probably looked like some kind of crazy, walking into a hospital at three in the morning and acting like she needed a fix. But the truth was she was just nervous. She was about to find out if the only person who ever really bothered to get close to her—no matter how much she hated it—was dead or alive. Since when did she start caring so much about him?

_He could be at another hospital._ Rogue thought, the images of a bloody and dying Remy flashing before her. _He would have died on the way there if they done that._

"Miss?"

Rogue blinked and focused back in on the receptionist. "Yeah?"

"What is your name and relation to Mr. LeBeau?"

A shaky breath escaped from Rogue as it felt like she deflated with the evacuation of anxiety from her. "Anna, Anna LeBeau. Ah'm his sister." She lied.

The receptionist nurse nodded. "He's just gotten out of surgery, he's very lucky to be alive. They're putting him in Intensive Care, room number 16. Would you like me to have someone show you up there?"

Rogue nodded. "Uh-huh." He was alive. With the knowledge of that fact, all feeling of weariness, hunger and pain fled from her and was replaced by this single fluttering sensation in her chest. An escort came down with a radio clipped onto his belt and led Rogue up to the third floor of the hospital and down hallways into Remy room. When they got to the room, the escort simply pointed to the door and kept on walking as if he were doing something else. The door was closed and the blinds for the window into the room drawn shut. A simple placard was on the gray door and it read: IC16. Rogue placed a gloved hand on the door knob. It was quiet in this part of the hospital, no TV turned on too loud or people talking or someone calling for a nurse. Just the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The knob turned with a squeak and Rogue entered the room.

It was dark. Only the light from the various monitors next to Remy's bed were giving off light. Rogue looked at his feet, two lumps at the bottom of the bed under the sheet. Then her eyes traveled up to his knees, then his waist and then his chest. Her eyes stayed there. He had a hospital gown on but it was left open to display the bandages and stitches from the recent surgery. Barely, his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of respiration. Her eyes moved from his chest to his face. There was a tube down his throat and the false hope that Remy was breathing on his own left Rogue.

Rogue took a few steps backwards and stumbled into a chair, more or less falling into it and sitting down. He looked dead. The door to the room opened and she jumped, turning scared eyes to the doctor that had just walked in and flicked on the light

"Ms. LeBeau, I presume?" he asked, extending a hand.

Rogue shook his hand and as he did so, stood up. "I'm Dr. Hinton." The doctor introduced himself.

"Your brother is a very lucky man. Quite a fighter." He continued, checking monitors and making notes on a clipboard.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Rogue asked quietly, not caring for the doctor's cheap banter.

Dr. Hinton sighed and motioned for Rogue to sit. He sat as well in a chair next to the door and placed his clipboard on the one next to his.

"The paramedics said there was a girl with him at the scene. Was that you?"

Rogue nodded, unable to speak from the sense that the doctor had something terrible to tell her.

"So you know that your brother was shot twice?" Again, Rogue nodded. "One bullet went in near his heart, and hence the massive blood loss. The second one went in not to far from the first one, punctured his lung and exited before it could cause any further damage. If this was all that had happened, I'd say that Remy would be able to go home in about a week or two at the most. However it seems that Remy hit his head pretty hard on the ground when he fell and we're not sure how extensive that damage is. I'm waiting on the results of a MRI but it seems as if there could be a chance that Remy could have trouble coming out of unconsciousness."

"What do ya mean, trouble?"

"At the best it could mean that he stays groggy for a few days and sleeps a lot or at the worst, he could stay comatose for a while. It all depends on what those test results show me."

Rogue nodded silently, letting the doctors words sink in. Remy could be comatose for a while. This was all her fault. There was a chance that Remy might not ever wake up because of her, because she invited him to this stupid party. Vaguely, she registered the doctor's hand giving her covered shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving.

Maybe she was being morbid, but Rogue knew that Remy wasn't going to wake up.

* * *

She blinked slowly, deliberately. Her eyes were glazed over with thought and stared past the ceiling. Past the ceiling and into herself. She had let Duncan fall to his death. She killed him. How many times in the Danger Room had someone been falling and she caught them with a thought? She barely even had to try any more and yet she couldn't even save Duncan.

Why?

Maybe she wanted to see him dead. Maybe she was secretly disgusted with herself for being with a person like him. He was an ignorant, chauvinistic, arrogant and slightly disinclined to intelligent things. She, on the other hand, was smart, pretty, friendly, outgoing, and tried to be as open-minded about things as possible. They didn't even go together, the only thing they had in common was sports and some mutual friends.

And then he hit her.

It was funny how that one action revealed so many things about him. So many things . . . Jean was surprised she hadn't seen them before. More than surprised, she was appalled at herself. Duncan had only wanted her for one thing and one thing only and she thought they were in love. Thinking back, Jean relieved all the things she had let go over the past few months; a snide comment here and there, an insult there and here, numerous let downs. Why had she changed for him? Where had the fiery redhead gone? Was she even the same girl who had masqueraded as a Bayville Siren? And then she let him die. She changed herself (and it wasn't for the better) for him, sold herself out for him and then watched him, let him die.

_Who have I become?_ Jean thought as she rolled over on her bed, now facing the window with her back to the door. She needed sleep badly but it would not come. Try as she might, every time she closed her eyes, she was confronted with the image of Duncan flipping over the balcony and then the image of his mangled body far down below.

There was a knock at her door and Jean rolled over, the door seeming to open of its own volition. The back-lit silhouette of Scott stood in the door way.

"Are you okay Jean?" he asked.

"I'm fine." She said, sitting up in her bed.

Scott gave her a look that said he didn't believe her.

"Really, I am." She tried to reassure him.

Scott shook his head and stepped into her room, closing the door behind him. "You're not Jean. I can hear you." He pointed to his head to indicate that she had been projecting to him.

"Oh, Scott, I'm so sorry. I didn't even realize I was doing it."

"It's alright. I understand, you've been thought a lot today, er, yesterday." Scott said, offering her a small smile. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." Jean said, but patted a spot on the bed near her knee. "Could we talk about something else though? I kinda wanna get my mind off of it."

"Sure." Scott sat on the spot she had indicated and could help but noticed that she even managed to look pretty at this ungodly hour. _Knock it off_; he scolded himself after noticing this. _She just watched her boyfriend die._

"Anything in particular you wanna talk about?" he asked.

"No, just talk to me. Tell me about something, anything."

"O . . . kay." Scott said awkwardly. He knew she was going to make this hard. "So . . . uh. . . how 'bout them Cowboys?"

Jean smiled. "I have no idea about them. I don't follow football."

"Oh yeah, I forgot, basketball's your thing."

"But I have always wondered what a first down was."

"There's not much to it. Its ten yards on the field from where the ball is."

"That's it?" Jean said. "I don't get it."

"It's like this. . ." Scott was about to go into a crash course about the basics of American football when a knock sounded at the door. Jean didn't even have time to say 'come in' before Kitty phased through the door looking worried.

"Rogue's gone."

* * *

A/N: Y'all are lucky we just got a blizzard around my neck of the woods or else this would have taken until spring break or even later to get out! Few Things: this is probably going to be a romy-centric story. It could end up involving Kurt and Kitty and Scott and Jean, but it might not. Depends upon how much effort I'll be able to put into this. So if three chapters in its all Rogue/Romy-ish don't say I didn't warn ya. Review and you might be rewarded with another chapter (provided I don't have school, that is)!

SG


	2. Bitch

_Runaway Rogue_  
Chapter 2  
Bitch

"Gone?" Scott repeated his eye brows raised above his ruby glasses.

"Yeah, like, as in not here." Kitty said. "I woke up to go to the bathroom and her bed was empty."

Scott closed his eyes and sighed. Just fan-fucking-tastic. "Where do you think she could have gone?"

Kitty shrugged while stepping further into Jean's room. "Maybe she's just out for a walk or something. " She couldn't help it, she had been sticking up for Rogue for so long that it was now habit to come up with something to cover Rogue's behind.

Scott turned to Jean, who in turn closed her eyes and seemed to meditate for a few seconds.

"She's not anywhere on the grounds." Jean said upon opening her eyes. ". . . Maybe she's at the hospital."

"Probably getting her stomach pumped." Scott muttered under his breath.

Jean, who heard him, gave him a light shove. "She said earlier that she wanted to go see some one there."

"Remy." Kitty answered, the name surfacing to her mind in unusual clarity.

"Who's that?" Scott asked.

"This guy Rogue's been hanging around. I think she might have a thing for him or something."

"I'll go get the Professor." Scott said, getting up.

* * *

Rogue sat and watched Remy. She had no idea how long she had been doing it, and she didn't much care. The Professor and Storm were probably looking for her already, nothing stayed secret in that house for long. She didn't care, let them find her, let them drag her back to that damned house. She would just sneak out again. She had a restless spirit, unable to abide by rules and stay in one place for too long. Kinda like Remy. He was always telling her stories about how he traveled all over the place and saw all kinds of crazy shit. But he loved his hometown of New Orleans the best. He loved it with a passion that was rare nowadays. Maybe that was why she made sort of a friendship with him, his passion. They hadn't known each other all that long, but Rogue could tell that there was something different about Remy.

Rogue sighed and let her head loll back. He should be awake by now. There was something funny going on with Remy and Dr. Hinton had returned and taken blood from Remy about twenty minutes ago. If he didn't wake up . . . no, she wasn't going to think about that. Because nothing else could go wrong with life. If there was a God, he would grant her this one thing.

There was a knock at the door and it swung open and Ororo was in the doorway, looking more livid that Rogue had ever seen her. Maybe she had taken it a bit too far this time. . .

"By the Bright Lady, you better have a good explanation for this Rogue."

Rogue gazed blankly at Ororo for a few seconds. Why even try to argue, the woman had obliviously already made up her mind about her.

"Ah've got nothin'." Rogue replied flatly.

This statement seemed to provoke Ororo's ire even more. The white glow started in the older woman's eyes and a far off rumble of thunder could be heard. "You are coming home now and if you even show one iota of resistance, Charles has given me permission to carry you out of here with the forces of the great winds. Is that understood?"

Rogue, deciding not to pick a fight at nearly five in the morning, nodded. It was probably Kitty that had tipped everyone off. Rogue couldn't blame her though; the valley girl had a small bladder.

Rogue was quiet the whole ride home, mostly tuning out Ororo's chastising speech that sounded more like a rant. Once in a while she would nod and look contrite but if the older woman were to ask her what she just said Rogue would be in for it. Thankfully, that didn't happen and Rogue was sent to her room while the Professor and Ororo figured out a different plan of attack. Rogue entered her room and was thankful to see that it was empty. She unceremoniously fell back onto her bed, staring up at the Slipknot poster hung above her bed. Maybe if she started dressing like them people would finally stay out of her business. Who were they to care if she stayed out all night, getting high? It wasn't like they were her family or anything. Sometimes she wished she was back at the Brotherhood. At least there people would leave her to her own business. Hell, Lance or Toad or someone would probably join in on her fun. Just as Rogue was about to drift off to some much needed sleep, the door to the room banged open. Rogue huffed an irritated sigh and rolled over away from the door.

"Oh no you don't." Kitty said, slamming the door behind her. "Don't pretend like you're tryin' to sleep because I, like, know you aren't."

Rogue rolled back over. "What in the hell has got your panties all in a bunch?"

"You!" Kitty shouted.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Ah'm flattered, but Ah don't roll that way unless Ah'm _really _stoned."

Kitty blushed for a few moments and sputtered at the innuendo. "That wasn't what I meant and you know it." She glared at the Goth girl before continuing on. "What the hell is your problem Rogue? Have you finally smoked so much weed that when you hear one thing you think it means to do the exact opposite?"

"Wow." Rogue blinked, looking impressed.

"Wow what?"

"Ah think that's the longest ya've ever gone without sayin' 'like'."

Kitty fumed. "You are, like, so impossible sometimes!" Kitty turned away from her and started picking clothes for the day out of the closet. "I mean, if you're like, not even going to try. . . .Why you ever left the Brotherhood is beyond me."

Rogue shot up to sit on her bed. "Ya wanna know why Ah left the Brotherhood?" She shouted. "Ah left because Ah was tired of havin' the ceilin' drip on me whenever it rained. Ah was tired of havin' ta walk ten blocks ta the Laundromat ta do mah laundry. Ah was tired of havin' Lance or Toad or Blob walk in on me when Ah was in the shower. So when y'all came along offerin' ya big fancy house with a bathroom Ah'd only have'ta share with one other person, who was a girl ta boot. . . fuck, Ah'd be stupid not ta take it." Rogue smirked at the look on Kitty's face. "Yes, Kitty, Ah'm _usin'_ y'all as a place ta crash. Ah couldn't give two shits about mutant-human co-existence. And ya know why Ah don't? Because it's never gonna happen and your Professor is just a crazy old cook with senile pipe dreams."

Kitty looked hurt. In one way Rogue wished she hadn't said those things, but in another, she didn't much care. In fact, she almost took a perverse kind of pleasure in bursting the Chicago girl's proverbial bubble.

"And what about me?" The brunette asked. "And what about Kurt?"

In Rogue's mind flashed images of when she first came to the Institute. She had gone with the flow of things for a while, and if she admitted it to herself, had some fun. There were trips down the beach and that crazy survival camp thing. It had actually felt good to do something productive for once. It also felt good to have some friends too that actually liked her for her and didn't think her hair was weird. But through it all, she had been lying to them. She snuck cigarettes in the bathroom, disappeared during school events to smoke weed under the bleachers, broke curfew and snuck out. And friends didn't constantly lie to each other, so Rogue wasn't any of these people's friends. She was just . . . hanging out, waiting for the next better thing to come along.

Rogue looked Kitty in the eyes and half shrugged. "You're just a roommate who doesn't know better not ta look out for me. Ah've told ya time and again not ta. . . . And Kurt's not even my brother, we don't share blood."

Kitty sniffed and nodded. "Funny, I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong." Before Rogue could say anything more, the Valley Girl had phased out of the room, sinking back through the wall.

"Fuck." Rogue sighed and threw herself back onto her bed. Feeling strangely hollow, Rogue drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Kitty waited just outside of the room she and Rogue shared. She was hoping that Rogue hadn't meant what she said and was going to come after her to apologize. All Kitty received was a muted curse and then the sounds of Rogue going to sleep. _I will not cry over this damn it!_ She thought, sniffing and wiping at her nose as she made her way to one of the communal bathrooms to change. Once there, she commanded herself to calm down, breathing through the want to cry and moments later the prickling behind her eyes stopped. It was replaced by a steely feeling of betrayal, of finding out that she had been lied to for all this time as she pulled her shirt over her head. Either Kitty was really dense or Rogue was an incredibly good actress because Kitty had genuinely thought that they had some kind of friendship going on. Ugh, she needed chocolate. It was still early, so Kitty headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. Once there, she forwent her usual breakfast of fruit or maybe one of the healthier cereals and grabbed for the box of Cookie Crisp. Surprisingly that was gone. And so were the Cocoa Puffs.

"Looking for zomezhing, _Katzchen_?"

Kitty turned to see Kurt sitting at the table, both boxes of junk cereal in front of him. She turned away from the cabinets and gestured towards the two boxes. "What? No Gut Bomb burgers for breakfast?"

Kurt shook his head almost sadly. "_Nein._ Scott vouldn't drive me or let me take his car." He brightened a bit though, as she pulled up a seat next to him and sat down. "But I zhink I might have found ze next best zhing."

"What _is_ that?" Kitty eyed his bowl wearily, worried about the odd mixtures of browns and mush.

"I give you Kurt's Cocoa Cookie Puff delight!" He proudly proclaimed. "Four times ze sugar and twice ze carbs in one convenient bowl!"

"Oh my God Kurt, that'll rot your teeth right out of your head!" Kitty exclaimed, looking mortified at the bowl of "cereal".

"Und probably zend me into diabetic zhock." He smiled and pushed a spoonful towards her. "Try zome. Cure vhatever ails you."

"Uh, I'd rather not. . ." Kitty looked unsure at the spoon just in front of her face.

"C'mon!" Kurt goaded her.

Well, she had come down here for something chocolate and sweet. One possibly couldn't get any more with Kurt's concoction that was threatening to dribble on her jeans. "Fine." Kitty sighed and opened her mouth. It was mushy from sitting in milk too long but Kurt's claims about its nutritional value was true. She could almost feel the sugar dumping into her system already.

"Vhat do you zhink?" Kurt asked after a moment.

"Pour me a bowl."

Kurt felt his eyebrows creep up on his head. "Really?" At Kitty's nod, he teleported the short distance over to the cabinets and gathered a bowl and a spoon. He returned with a puff of smoke and a flash, laying out the bowl and spoon for Kitty. If possible, Kurt's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hairline at the enthusiasm at which Kitty dug into the newly discovered cereal.

"Who are you und vhat have you done vith Kitty?"

"Nuffin'." She replied around a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she continued. "I just need some comfort food."

"_Warum_?"

"If that means why, it's because Rogue is a total bitch."

Kurt blinked in surprise. Kitty rarely, if ever, cursed. It was even rarer for it to be directed at someone in the Institute. "Oh-_kay_." Kurt said, sounding unsure of him self. "Is zhere anyzhing you vant to talk about?"

Kitty swallowed another mouthful for cereal. "I was just upstairs talking--well, more like trying to talk to--Rogue. I wanted to know why she keeps digging herself a bigger and bigger hole, but she just came back at me with some, like, totally uncalled for and snarky comments." Kitty sighed and scooped up another spoonful of cereal. "Sometimes, I really think she hates everything and everyone here. Especially me."

Kurt put his arm around Kitty. "Now zhat can't be true. It's impossible to hate you, Kitty. You're too sveet. Be annoyed vith, _ja._ Scared of your cooking, _ja_. But hate? _Nie_."

Kitty turned her head towards Kurt and after noticing how close their faces were, figured that Kurt wasn't exactly grasping the nature of Rogue's words. "She said you weren't her brother."

Shock overtook Kurt's face, which was replaced by a flash of hurt before he covered it all up with a wry half-smile. "Vell, technically she's right."

Despite his admission that Rogue was right, Kitty could tell that he was hurting pretty bad on the inside. Kitty's heart broke for him.

"Oh Fuzzy!" Kitty cried and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Kurt, awkwardly at first, returned Kitty's sudden hug. He wasn't sure if she was comforting him or if he was supposed to be comforting her. Whatever the reason was, he was hoping that she wouldn't stop anytime soon. "Um, zhere zhere?"

Kitty pulled away, but only slightly so. "You are so sweet."

"_Danke_" Kurt replied.

"Oh!" Kitty's face lit up with the remembrance of something. "I, uh, never got to thank you for saving me from Lance last night."

Kurt waved a tridactyl hand at her. "It vas nozhing."

"No, really. Thank you." Kitty said earnestly, grasping her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I wasn't sure what was going to happen for a few moments. I mean, I like couldn't get it together enough to phase and I couldn't fight him off and who knows what--"

Kurt silenced her by brushing a finger against her lips. "_Katzchen_, shh. You're rambling. It's in ze past now"

In a split second decision, she closed the distance between them and laid her lips on his in a brief kiss. When Kitty pulled away she saw that Kurt's cheeks were flushed with a dull purple color.

"_Ja_ . . . no problem." Kurt said with a goofy smile stuck on his face.

* * *

Jean opened the door to the Professor's office, slipped in and closed it behind her. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Yes, please, sit down." The man said from behind his desk, gesturing to one of the leather chairs on the other side.

Jean strode forward and took a seat in the one on her right. She honestly didn't feel like being here because she knew the Professor just wanted to talk to her about Duncan. But, even if she didn't _feel_ like being here, she probably _should_ be here.

He smiled kindly at her. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Jean responded, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear.

"Honesty?" he inquired, raising a brow.

Jean sighed before answering, "No."

"You blame yourself, don't you?"

Jean looked up from her feet, mouth open in protest, but the Professor held up a hand to stop her. "I don't need to be a telepath to figure it out. You're projecting much more than you usually do and I just want to make sure that you have a handle on your grief."

"I-I do. At least, I think I do." Jean said. "It's just. . . I thought I loved him, you know?"

The Professor nodded, noticing her use of the past tense of the word 'love'. "And you very well may have."

Jean sighed audibly, the action tinged with annoyance. "If it's okay with you Professor, I really don't feel like talking right now and would like to just go up to my room to sleep."

The Professor nodded again. "Of course."

Jean stood and turned to leave. Just before she grasped the handle to the door, the Professor spoke again. "When you do feel like talking, Jean, the door to my office is always open."

"Thank you." Jean said, and left.

* * *

Rogue had been awakened around 4 p.m. and ordered to wash and wax the entire X-Jet. Ororo watched her the entire time and even had Kurt teleport them dinner to them. Rogue guessed that Kitty had told Kurt what she had said earlier by the dirty and hurt look he threw her before teleporting away. Whatever, if wanted to get attached because of some miniscule legal fact, then he could. She, however, wasn't. Rogue dropped the rag she had been using to wax the X-Jet and sighed, blowing fringe out of her hair.

"Am Ah done yet? Ah've been at it for five hours now, that's gotta be against some child labor law."

Ororo looked over the edge of her magazine and scrutinized the plane for a few seconds. "No, it's not. Especially since you're over eighteen now, young lady. However, I do think you are done, for now. Clean up and then you may go to your room."

"Whoop-dee-do." Rogue mumbled under her breath as Ororo left, twirling a finger in the air. Oh boy, a night in her room with basic cable and an irate Kitty. She cleaned up the mess she had made cleaning the X-Jet (ironic wasn't it?) and went upstairs. As she walked past the front door on her way up to the girl's dormitories, the doorbell rang. Rogue ignored it and started up the stairs, figuring someone else would get it. Halfway up the stairs, whoever was at the door knocked heavily, and when she reached the top, still no one had answered the door. Dropping her shoulders and sighing with great irritability, Rogue turned on her heel and went back down the stairs and answered the door.

"Whatever it is, ya got the wrong girl." Rogue said upon opening the door and seeing two detectives standing there.

The detective however, ignored her statement for the most part. "I'm Detective Mason and this is Detective Katz. We're with the Bayville Police Department. Is Professor Xavier in?"

"Yeah, sure. Ah'll get him." Rogue said, closing the door. '_Hey Prof?'_ She mentally projected to the Professor.

'_Yes, Rogue?'_

'_There's two detectives at the door. They wanna talk ta ya.'_

She heard the Professor sigh. _'Tell them I'll be down in a minute.'_

Rogue opened the door again and smiled falsely. "Thank God for the intercom system." She said. "He'll be down in a minute."

Of course, by this time, those who had been in various parts of the mansion and decided that they would get the door only to arrive too late, began arriving in the foyer. Among them were Scott, Jubilee and Kurt. Moments later to Professor arrived.

"What can I do for you officers?"

"We need to speak with Scott Summers. His name has come up frequently in our investigation and we would like to ask him a few questions."

* * *

_Nie_-never_  
Warum_- why 

A/N: Yay, got another chapter out. Yay, done school. Yay, Scott's going in for questioning. Oh, wait, that's not a 'yay' thing, is it? Please review, it'll make me feel all warm and tingly inside.

SG


	3. Comfort

_Runaway Rogue_  
Chapter 3  
Comfort

"At this hour?" The Professor asked, raising a brow.

"We're sorry for the inconvenience," The other officer spoke up. "But it really is important that we speak to Mr. Summers now."

Scott, at the first mention of his name, had moved forward from the gathering crowd of students and now stood behind the Professor, one hand on the back of the older man's chair. "It's not a problem for me, Professor. I'd be happy to--"

Charles silenced him by raising a hand. He could sense these detectives' hostility towards Scott, that they were beginning to know what he was, and more importantly what the school was. "I'm sorry officers, but I'm afraid I would be remiss in my duties as headmaster of this school to let one of my students enter into any legal questioning without a lawyer present." The smugness could almost be heard in Xavier's voice. "And since I would not be able to get a hold of one of the school's lawyers until morning, I can't allow you to question him."

The detectives looked highly irritated and somewhat deflated at Xavier's quick maneuvering. They obviously hadn't been counting on it. The one on Charles' right spoke.

"Alright then." He smiled tightly in a way that did not reach his eyes. "I think that will give us time to gather the resources we need to question all the students present at the party at once. Don't you think, Marv?"

The other detective, Marv (obviously), nodded. "I think so. We'll be back in the morning with a list of names. Have a good night."

"Good night." The Professor replied to the detectives that were now walking down the front steps. He wheeled back in his chair a bit and shut the door.

"What did you do that for?" Scott exploded. "I could have handled them myself."

Charles smiled a small smile and headed for his private study. "While you have become very good at getting out of tough situations as team leader of the X-Men, Scott, going up against law enforcement in their own environment is something entirely different than any Danger Room or battlefield situation."

"With all due respect, Professor, I'm not stupid."

Charles stopped his chair. "I never said you were." He said. "However, it is those detectives' jobs to coax people into unknowingly telling them the very thing they are trying to hide. And I'm sure with the very public display of Kurt's powers there are already rumors flying about that are much more interesting than a tragic accident at some high school party."

Scott closed his mouth with an audible click. "I didn't know it was that bad already."

Charles smirked. "You of all people should know how fast gossip can spread." With that the Professor continued towards his private study, leaving Scott alone in the hall.

------------------------

"Is it true?"

Scott turned to see Jean walking down the hall towards him, concern written all over her features. "Is what true?" he asked.

"That the police want to question you." She said, stopping in front of him. She was obviously dressed for bed or just relaxing in her room, wearing only gray sweatpants and a white tee with her hair tied back into a low ponytail.

"Yeah." Scott replied. "Only the Prof did some fast talking and got it pushed back to tomorrow."

"Something tells me that's not a good thing." She frowned.

"They want to question everyone who was at the party now." Scott sighed.

"Shit." Jean breathed, earning a pair of raised eyebrows from Scott. "What? It's not like _you_ never said it before."

"I didn't say a word." Scott said, raising his hands in defense with a half smile on his face. "Just…sounds funny coming from you is all."

He was expecting an offended "Hey!" or maybe a shove to his shoulder, but Jean didn't do any of those things. Instead she closed her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line and breathed deeply through her nose. "Is something wrong?" Scott asked.

Jean opened her eyes and shot a smile at him. It was so genuine looking that he knew it had to be fake. "Fine. Everything's fine."

Scott gave her a look. "Is there something you need to talk about?"

"No." She quickly said, shaking her head. "I'm just going to go up to bed now. Goodnight Scott." She turned to leave.

Scott caught her wrist as she left and tugged her back to him, turning her to face him. "We're going to be questioned by the police tomorrow, the school's secret is probably out and you're saying that everything is fine?" He paused. "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything Scott, I'm just tired."

"You're not blinking enough."

Jean's brows knitted together in confusion. "What?"

"You concentrate too hard on keeping a straight face when you lie to the point that you hardly blink. I don't think you've blinked this entire conversation."

Now she blinked rapidly, flustered at Scott's statement. "I-I-I do not! My blinking is just fine! And why are you watching me blink?"

Scott didn't go after her obvious try at changing the subject. For one reason, he wouldn't find out what was bothering her and second, he would have to tell her that he paid very special attention to her whenever she talked, entered a room, walked…did anything really. "Because it's obvious." He semi-lied; it was obvious to him at least. "And don't change the subject because you know I'll just bother you about it tomorrow if you manage to get rid of me now."

Jean sighed in a harsh way that made it sound more like a growl. "Fine! You want to know what's wrong? I am _tired,_ so fucking _tired, _of people thinking that I'm so goddamned perfect! That I don't get stressed out, that everything comes easy to me, that good grades and friends are just given to me when no one stops to think that maybe, just maybe, I work my ass off for those grades and I say things that I later hate myself for to get those _stupid_ so-called friends!" Jean's eyes began to shine with unshed tears and a familiar pricking began behind her eyes. "So don't you dare say I suck at lying because you know what Scott Summers? I lie all the goddamned time! To you, to myself, to everyone! And I'm just…I'm just…I just want it to stop." The last part sounded more like a plea as she broke and cried, burying her face into Scott's shoulder.

Well, Scott certainly wasn't expecting that. He had been expecting something related to her mourning for Duncan, but this….this seemed like it had been bothering her for a long while, long before Duncan came into the picture.

"It's alright." He said, wrapping his arms around her and stroking the back of her head. "It's okay."

"You know," She sniffed. "I think that maybe if I hadn't started trying to be so popular, that maybe somehow Duncan wouldn't have died. If I didn't start hanging around his friends we never would have gotten together and then he never would have hit me and that guy never would have saw and there never would have been that fight and Duncan wouldn't have gone over the edge…"

Scott shoved aside the feeling of rage that built up in side when Jean mentioned Duncan hitting her. He pushed her away and held her out by her shoulders. "Jean, look at me. It wasn't your fault. Duncan was drunk and spoiling for a fight. He bit off more than he could chew and paid the price for it."

While Scott got the sense that his words offered some kind of comfort, Jean seemed to only cry more. "Why?" She cried. "Why did I freeze like that? I could have saved him!"

"I…I don't know." Scott said as Jean took refuge on his shoulder again. "But what happened, happened and you can't change it."

Jean didn't reply, but continued in her crying. Scott did the only thing he knew to do which was to hold her and run his hand down her long red hair. He hoped it was soothing in some way because he still had no clue when it came to crying girls. They were just so…_overwhelming_.

"Hey, hey, come on." Scott stooped down a bit so he could see Jean's face and swipe away some of her tears. "How about we go out real quick for one of those smoothies you like at the smoothie bar in the mall. It should still be open."

"I don't even like smoothies. I just said I did to fit in"

_Crap_. "Um, ok then. How about we just go out for a milkshake or something? Just get away from here and relax for a little bit."

Jean gave him a look that reminded Scott of an angry, pouting five-year-old only much sadder. "A stupid milkshake isn't going to make me feel better." At Scott's frazzled, 'please-God-throw-me-a-fricken-bone!' look, Jean added. "But it might help."

A relieved smile appeared on Scott face. "Great. Let's go then."

"What? No." Jean dug her heels in the ground and stopped Scott's progress down the hall. "I can't go out like this, I look like a bum."

Scott looked up and down the deserted hallway they were in. "You're tired of people thinking you something you're not, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you're tired of putting on appearances for other people, right?"

"Right."

"So then just go out the way you are. You look fine to me. If anyone doesn't like it, tell them to fuck off."

Jean blinked at Scott's use of harsh language, but then let loose a short burst of laughter. "Um, okay."

------------------------

"_Scheisse, Scheisse, Scheisse…_"

Kitty frowned as she stood outside of Kurt's door. She went to find him after she had heard from Jubilee that the cops had come and wanted to ask Scott a bunch of questions and then something else happened (from what Kitty could decipher from Jubilee-speak) and now the whole lot of them were being dragged in. After the initial worry and nervousness took hold, a want to see Kurt had taken her to where she was now, standing outside of his room, listening to him cursing and pacing back and forth. She raised a hand and knocked. "Kurt? It's me, Kitty."

The pacing and German cursing stopped and a few seconds later the door opened. "_Katzchen_, hi."

"Hi." She replied with a small wave that she immediately felt foolish for. "Um, I heard about the thing with the detectives."

"_Ja_, sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, totally." Kitty looked him over briefly, noting the agitated state of Kurt's hair. _Probably from running his hands through it_. "Are you okay?"

"_Ja_." Kurt said, nodding. There was silence for a few seconds before Kurt asked, "Uh, Ze Adventures of Robin Hood vith Errol Flynn is on, vant to vatch it?"

"Who's Errol Flynn?" Kitty asked, making a face.

Kurt's jaw dropped. "_Vas!_ You don't know who Errol Flynn is? Now you have to vatch it! Come and zee vhat acting really is." He pulled her into the room.

"Wait, aren't I, like, not allowed to be in your room after 8 or something?"

"Ve'll keep ze door open. Bezides, it's not like ve'll be doing anything, ve're just vatching a film."

"Yeah, okay." Kitty smiled, stepping further into the room.

Kurt immediately made himself comfortable, lying on his stomach at the foot of his bed and quickly becoming entranced by the movie. His pose reminded Kitty of a little boy watching his favorite television idol on a Saturday morning. Kitty herself sat Indian-style next to him and took in the sword-fighting and swashbuckling antics of Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men. It _was _an entertaining movie, with a good mix of action and romance and a little bit of comedy but Kitty could just not make her self feel about as carefree as Kurt looked. What if she told the detectives something tomorrow that she wasn't supposed to? What if they asked about the Danger Room or the X-Jet? She was a horrible liar, Ororo and Kurt could attest to that. (She had accidentally let the cat out of the bag before Kurt's surprise birthday party.) What if she phased in front of them? What if they made her spy on the Institute for them and if she refused they would hurt her family like in that movie she saw one time? Or what if—

"_Katzchen_!"

"I don't know anything!" Kitty started.

Kurt gave her a weird look. "Vhat are you talking about?"

"Oh, um, nothing." Kitty's cheeks colored in embarrassment. "What did you say?"

"I asked you vhat you zought about ze movie. Tvice."

"Oh. It was good, I liked it."

Kurt gave her a suspicious look, golden glowing eyes narrowing in the dark of his room. "Vhat vas your favorite part?"

"Um….the first one?" Kitty at least had to good grace to look sheepish. "I'm sorry Kurt; I didn't really pay attention to the movie. I'm just, like, totally freaking out right now."

"_Ja, Ich auch_."

"That means 'me too', right?"

Kurt nodded and shrugged. "More or less."

"Cool, I remembered." Kitty smiled briefly for a second before the expression slid from her face. "So anyway, like what if they ask me about something I can't tell them about? I totally know they're gonna do it too and I'm like the worst liar ever, I mean, you remember the birthday party right? And then if that happens then they'll like arrest me for lying under oath or perjury or something! Ohmigosh, Kurt what if they know about the Sirens?"

Kurt blinked at Kitty's rambling for a minute, his language centers not quite up to the task of deciphering Valley-Girl-English that fast. "Who's going to do zhis again?"

Kitty looked at him like he was missing something obvious. "The police? Tomorrow? Questioning everyone about the party, remember?"

"Oh _zhat._" In all honesty, he wasn't that nervous yet about the questioning tomorrow. He probably would be in the morning, but now all he was worried about was whether or not his holo would work tomorrow. If it didn't, the Professor could just come up with some lie about him being sick until it did work.

"Why, what were you thinking about?" Kitty asked, giving him a odd look.

"Oh, _ja_, I vas zhinking about zhat too." Kurt quickly lied. In actually he had been trying to figure out what had happened between them this morning before Kitty came knocking on his door. He had made attempts of flirting with her during the movie, but only receiving distracted responses, he stopped, thinking that maybe Kitty was really enjoying the movie. Or that she wasn't interested. But as he was finding out now, the movie had been the farthest thing from her mind.

"No you weren't" Kitty accused. "Or else I wouldn't have had to tell you what I was talking about." Kurt didn't have a response for that, so Kitty continued on. "What were you cursing about in here before I came in? Oh no, nothing bad happened at home did it?"

"_Nein, nein_. Nozhing like zhat." Kurt said, waving her concern off. "It's just…I vas zhinking about vhat happened zhis morning betveen us."

"Oh." Kitty's eyes widened with realization. "Yeah, that was--"

"It vas just a kiss right?" Kurt opened his mouth before he could stop himself, already prepared for Kitty's rejection.

"Yeah." Kitty hesitantly nodded, becoming more confident in the movement as she continued it. "Yeah, it was just a thank-you kiss." _If it was, then why do I feel so let down all of a sudden?_

"Right." Kurt nodded. "Zhat's vhat I zought."

The air became thick with masked hurt from both parties and it quickly converted into awkwardness.

"I think it's getting late." Kitty said, breaking the heavy silence like a gunshot. "I'm gonna go to bed, I wouldn't want Ororo to find me in here this late."

"_Ja_, I zhink zhats a good idea too." Kurt got up from the bed and walked Kitty the short distance to the door. "Night, Kitty."

"Night, Fuzzy." She turned around and looked at him, lips slightly and unknowingly parted, for just a second before turned back around and headed off to her own bed.

Kurt shut the door after her, leaning back on it when it was closed.

"_Scheisse_."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out. Those of you that read _Affliction_ probably already know that I had a real job this summer, complete with 8 hours of work and a 45 minute commute. And if you didn't know, well, now you do. On a brighter note, I _am_ finished with that job. On a not-so-bright-note, I start school in a week. Which gives me a week to update things. So hopefully I'll have easy classes this fall and will be able to update this (and other things) more.

I know, there was no Rogue in this chapter, but she'll pretty much be the star of next chapter, which will be a big turning point in the story. Let me know what you guys thought of this one!

Mercedes Watson


	4. Just Relax

Warning: Offensively harsh language lies ahead. Ye be warned.

_Runaway Rogue_  
Chapter 4  
Just…Relax

"Are we sneaking out?"

"I guess so." Scott shrugged in the darkness of the garage, trying not to trip over anything on his way to his car.

"Why don't we just ask if we can go out?" Jean whispered, even there was no real reason to.

"'Cause I get the feeling they'll say no." Scott said. "Besides, this way is more fun." Just then, his foot thwacked into something hard and metal, causing him to stumble. "Ow! Sonofabitch!"

Jean sighed and the light flicked on. "More fun, huh?" She shot him a look while watching him hop around on one foot, holding the other.

"Oh yeah, loads." Scott put his foot down and tried not to limp the rest of the way to his car. "So, where to?"

Jean slid into the seat next to him. "Wanna just drive around until we find some place that looks good?"

"Fine by me." Scott started up the car and hit the garrage door opener, the garage door opening slowly.

"I can't believe we're doing this." Jean said as Scott slowly eased the car out of the garage.

"Doing what?"

"Sneaking out."

Scott shrugged. "Bound to happen sooner or later. I blame the violence in video games. Now hang on."

"For what?" Jean was flattened into the back of her seat as Scott floor the accelerator, shooting down the driveway at an alarming speed. "Scott! Slow down!"

They didn't slow down until they reached downtown Bayville. They cruised around for a while, talking and just hanging out while the radio played. Scott thought that he hadn't seen Jean this relaxed since before the Professor began adding on to the numbers of the Institute. He could never tell anyone when exactly he fell for Jean Grey; it just seemed like he had always unconsciously loved her. But he could tell exactly when he became aware of his feelings for her. It had been on a Friday night, a little less than a year ago. At dinner, no less. He asked her what she was doing that night, having a half formed idea of maybe asking her to the movies. Maybe as a little bit more than friends because just maybe, _maybe_ he liked her. But she replied that she was going out with this boy named Duncan who was on the football team. A possessive feeling of jealousy immediately filled him and he had to stop himself from blurting out 'no you're not!'. Scott didn't remember how that conversation had ended; just knowing that he had been filled with a jealous kind of hate for Duncan Matthews ever since.

"Hey, this place looks good." Jean pointed to a place across the street from them, interrupting his thoughts. Scott nodded and found a parking space on the street.

It was one of those revived 50's doo-wop places, complete with black and white checkerboard linoleum and red shimmering vinyl covering the booths that lined both walls. The pair headed towards the back of the malt shop where the counter was. Scott ordered and paid for both double chocolate shakes while Jean picked out a song on the old jukebox over in the corner.

"So," Scott said, after they had received their milkshakes and had sat down at one of the booths. "How's your milkshake?"

"Mmm," Jean nodded, swallowing down a lusciously thick and chocolaty mouthful. "Good."

"That's good." Scott replied. There was a comfortable silence for a few moments until Jean looked suddenly very excited while drinking her shake.

"What is it?" Scott asked, wondering if she needed the Heimlich or something.

Jean pointed up at the ceiling and said, "I love this song."

Scott listened for a few seconds, recognizing the song as 'At the Hop'. "I didn't know you liked Oldies so much."

"I don't." Jean replied. "Well, not that much anyway. It's just this song always reminds me of American Graffiti."

"You like that movie?" Scott asked, hopeful grin starting to form on his face.

"Yeah I love it!" Jean said. "It's like the only movie that I had to watch for school that I actually liked."

"No way, that's one of my favorites too!" He replied, full smile on his face. Jean had the same favorite movie as him, they had something in common! They had something to talk about, they could watch it on a Friday night, they could make weird references to it in conversation and no one would get it but them. _Whoa, slow down, Summers._ Just because she liked the same movie as he did, didn't mean that they were the perfect match and destined for each other.

"Isn't the best scene when Terry ties down the axle of the cop car and then…" Jean seemed unable to speak for a split second while her eyes darted to and stayed on the front door of the malt shop. "And then the cop pulls out and leaves it behind?"

Scott didn't answer, instead was turned around so he could see what was so distracting. Who else should walk in but a group of Duncan's friends? Scott turned back to Jean. "Do you wanna go?"

"No." Jean shook her head and focused on the milkshake in front of her, tucking an errant lock of red hair behind one ear. She reached out and patted his hand. "C'mon, what's your favorite scene?"

Scott cast a lingering glance back at the group of teenagers in the front of the store before speaking. "I like the scene where Curt and Debbie are watching the submarine races and Debbie starts telling him about the serial killer or whatever and they both get scared shitless."

Jean laughed. "That's a good one. How about when--"

Two hands slammed down on the table. There were bangle bracelets around one wrist which lead up two long arms to Taryn's scowling face. "You. Bitch."

Jean felt her eyebrows rise on her head. She had expected some kind of backlash from Duncan's friends, but Taryn looked downright ready to kill her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me you goddamned soul-sucking cunt." Taryn sneered. "I knew you were an ice-queen but I can't believe you'd actually go that far."

"What are you talking about?" Jean said, hoping against hope that this wasn't going to get out of hand. She took her eyes off of Taryn for a second to see two more girls that were part of Duncan's little pack of hussies that he liked to keep around him at all times. The guys they brought with them seemed content to watch everything from a booth near the door. Taryn smelled like something familiar…. "Taryn, are you drunk?"

"Fuckin' _no_." The other girl said in a manner that seemed to confirm that she was at least a little buzzed. "I'm fucking pissed off at you for killing my friend!"

At that moment, the two girls who had been approaching now flanked Taryn in an oddly ominous show of feminine posturing.

"Look, I don't know what you heard, but I didn't kill Duncan." There was an undercurrent of uncertainty in her voice that Jean damned herself for, hoping it wasn't noticeable.

Scott knew what Taryn was like when she got mad. It wasn't anywhere near what the tall dark-haired girl looked like now. He sense he should probably step in and mediate before it turned into a cat fight. "Taryn, leave her alone and go sleep off whatever you're on right now."

"Shut up Summers!" Taryn snapped at him. "You're pathetic you know that? Going after this red-head of a whore."

"Hey! You leave him out of this!" Jean shouted, standing up from her seat. "You got a problem with me, take it up with me."

"Aw, what's a matter sweetie?" Taryn mocked in a sickly-sweet voice. "Did I hurt your next piece of man-meat's feelings?"

Jean stepped right up into Taryn's face, keeping her voice low and even. "You have no idea what went on between me and Duncan, I love him and I would never hurt him."

"If you loved him so much," Taryn said, her voice matching Jean's. "Why did you let him fall?" She swept her gaze over Jean. "I heard you pushed him over."

"I did no such thing!" Jean cried, to which Taryn responded, "Like hell you did!"

There was a loud slap and Jean reeled back, clutching a hand to her still bruised cheek. The same cheek that had been slapped by Duncan a little less than twenty-four hours ago. Scott was in front of her in a flash, keeping her back from lunging at Taryn and keeping Taryn from further injuring Jean.

"That's enough Taryn!" He said using the loud, authoritarian voice Jean had heard him use with the younger students at the Institute when they were in trouble. "Leave her alone." He grabbed Jean's hand and led her out of the shop, and didn't stop until they were seated in the car.

"I'm-"

"Take me home." Jean pleaded, interrupting whatever Scott was about to say. She was curled up in the passenger seat, knees drawn to her chest and her hand to her cheek still. The pain that had started to slowly ebb away with a day's worth of time was now back in full force, just as if she was still standing on that balcony watching the fight between Duncan and that strange man. Watching him go over the edge, seeing the look of absolute fear and shock as he knew the end was here. Was it her imagination or did he lock eyes with her for a second? Did those brown eyes plead with her to save him? Ask why she wasn't doing anything to save him? Wonder why she hated him so much? Did she hate him? She started crying, the single day's worth of distance not being enough to stop the hurt, the guilt, the self-blame from enveloping her again.

"Jean, relax. Its okay, _it's okay_. Calm down." She was in Scott's arms again; he was holding her, trying to soothe her. He was running his hand up and down her back, having half pulled her into his lap. She looked around and saw that they were home, in the garage at the Institute. She leaned back into his shoulder, taking a few minutes to collect herself.

"Are you alright?" Scott asked a few moments later, holding her by her shoulders at arm's length. "Do you need me to go get the Professor or Hank or something?"

"No." Jean sniffed, her voice still having that unique strained quality that only came with crying. She wiped her eyes and looked at Scott. "Thank you."

"It's no problem Jean; you know I'm always here for you." He said, brushing hair away from her face.

"I know." She sniffed again. "I really appreciate it."

"That's what friends are for." Scott replied. "Why don't I walk you up to your room?"

They walked up to Jean's room, Scott's arm around her shoulders the entire time. He was such a good friend to her, even when she treated him badly and ignored him all those times for Duncan. She didn't deserve his support.

"Well, here we are. Good night, Jean." He said once they were standing outside the door to her room.

"Good night Scott." She replied, opening her door as Scott walked off towards the boy's dorms.

"Hey, Jean?"

She turned around to see him a short distance down the hall. "Yes, Scott?"

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay. I will." She nodded. She turned to go back into her room but found that she couldn't. "Scott?"

Scott turned just in time to see Jean rushing towards him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. It lasted just long enough for Scott to get over his initial shock and wrap his arms in return around Jean's waist. Suddenly, she pulled away.

_Oh my God! Taryn's right! I **am** just some man-eating monster!_ The abject fear of that single thought reflected clearly in Jean's eyes.

"I'm sorry." She whispered and before Scott could reply, the door to her room slammed shut.

"No, it's ok….really, it is." Scott murmured to himself and then sighed, ashamed of him self. Jean didn't need him salivating over and pawing her right now. What she needed was a friend and that was all they were ever going to be, he sternly reminded himself. He turned around and headed for his own room. Women. They just had to make being a nice guy so ridiculously damn hard.

* * *

The next morning, Sunday morning, dawned bright and sunny over Bayville. The air was crisp and clean, promising pleasantly warmer temperatures later on in the day. The younger students probably would spend the day basking in the glory of the nice weather and the fact that the school year would soon be coming to a close. The older students…well, they were a different story. The ones that had been at Duncan's party had to go to questioning with the police today and none of them were really looking forward to it. For Rogue, however, that was an understatement.

Rogue was _freaking the fuck out_.

What if they found out about her drugs? What if they arrested her? Hell, she was a mutant; they'd probably just shoot her in the fucking head thanks to Kurt's little malfunction at the party. Hell, going along those lines those damn pigs were probably just using this whole questioning thing as a line up of sorts to just pick out the weirdest one out of all of them and just pin it on that one. Which was Rogue, obviously. She stuck out like a sore thumb around here; she never belonged here in the first place. And the cops hated her too, always picking on her for stuff. . . . That damn guy had been _asking_ to be punched in the face.

Rogue leaned on the counter in the bathroom, pushing her two-toned hair out of her face and looking at herself in the mirror. She needed to calm down about this or she may as well just march in there, tell them she was a stoner and hand it all over.

"Alright. Deep breaths." She said to herself. "They don't know nothin' about me, Ah'm just some punk kid ta them at some disciplinary school or some shit like that."

She stared herself down in the mirror for about three seconds before sighing harshly. This easy breathing yoga shit wasn't going to work; she was going to need some help.

"Rogue! C'mon, we're gonna be late!" She heard Scott call from out in the hall way.

"Just a minute!" She called back, leaving the bathroom. She rummaged around on the mess that was the top of her dresser, a picture of her and Kitty and Kurt catching her eye for a minute. It was during one of her short-lived sober stretches, before she met Remy. She shook off the nostalgia before it got a hold of her and started opening up drawers and tearing through them, the clothes in side getting sloshed over the edge and onto the floor.

"Where the fuck did Ah put them?" She whispered to herself agitatedly, slamming one drawer shut and opening another for another vigorous search. The sound of a plastic baggie hitting the floor was heard and Rogue looked down at her boots. There they were!

Rogue picked up the baggie from the floor and held up the contents to eye-level. Inside were three marijuana cigarettes left over from….sometime, she couldn't remember when. She opened he bag and sniffed at the air inside them, figuring that they weren't the ones she paid extra to be dipped in wet. She didn't need to go completely bat-shit on some cop in the interrogation room. She took one out and stuffed it down the front of her shirt, securing it snugly in her bra.

"Rogue! Let's go!"

"Alright, Ah'm comin' already, keep yer goddamned pants on!" She hollered back, dropping the bag on the floor and leaving.

Scott took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the glass of water on the table, drinking from it. The room was just as he'd imagined it would be. Sparse. White washed cinderblock were the walls, bland linoleum on the floor, a table with two metal chairs on either side and a single set of fluorescent lights hung over head, giving stark white light to the room. Oh, and of course, the obligatory mirror that took up one side of the room that everyone _knew_ was a one way window. His reflection stared back at him next to one of Warren Worthington's expensive lawyers.

The door opened and a man walked in, wearing an empty chest holster over his white dress shirt. He looked the stereotypical overworked detective nearing retirement. "I'm Detective Marvin Katz." He said sitting down across from Scott and the lawyer and placing an ancient looking tape recorder on the table between them. He shuffled the papers in his folder while gruffly stating, "I'll be handling your questioning."

He looked up from his papers at Scott. "Relax, Mr. Summers." From the way he said it, it sounded like Scott should do anything but relax. Scott nodded and set down the glass of water, now empty. Marvin Katz pushed a button on the tape recorder and mumbled off something about case numbers and stuff.

"State your name for the record."

"Scott Summers."

"So, Mr. Summers. From what I hear, you and Mr. Matthews didn't get along very well, did you?"

Scott glanced at the lawyer and at her slight nod, answered the question. "Honestly? No." He said. "He hated me and I wasn't too fond of him either."

"So what were you doing at the party then?"

"My…" At the thought of Jean, the kiss from last night flashed through his brain. "friend invited me to go."

"Friend?"

"Yeah, Jean. Jean Grey."

Detective Katz made a noise in his throat, nodded and scribbled something down on his legal pad. "She was involved with the deceased?"

"Uh, yeah. They'd been going out for a while."

The detective looked up at him with a piercing glare. "You like her?"

"What?" Scott said, obviously thrown. How did he know? Would he tell Jean if he told him? Or was she being questioned by someone else right now?

"I fail to see the relevance of that question." The lawyer next to him spoke up. She had closed cut hair and was wearing a purplish-red woman's suit. She seemed…bitchy.

"Just trying to get to know the kid a little bit." The detective said, slightly defensively, raising a hand.

The lawyer nodded but Scott didn't feel like answering the question still.

"C'mon." Katz said. "When I was your age, any red-blooded American kid like yourself would be jealous of Matthews. Unless you're…."

"Oh, no. No." Scott shook his head. "Not that there's anything wrong with…but I'm--"

The detective held up his hand to stem Scott's babbling. "That why you it him? Got in a fight with him?"

"No. He was drunk and acting like an asshole. Someone said something about hickeys and the wide receiver, he thought it was me and came at me. I only hit him in self defense." Under Detective Katz's penetrating gaze he added on, "I might have been a bit jealous of him. But he deserved it."

"That jealousy why you pushed him over the edge of the balcony?"

"No!" Scott vehemently declared. "I might have thought the guy was a complete dick, but I wouldn't _kill_ him."

"We have witnesses--"

"Well they're wrong!" Scott shouted. "I was in the kitchen watching my friend Pete hurl up massive amounts of puke into the sink when I heard Jean start screaming and I ran out to see what was going on. When I got there it was too late. Jean was trying to go over the edge and get Duncan, I guess she was delusional or something, but I held her back." Better to lie and tell him that than Jean could fly and he was really just keeping her from getting up close and personal with Duncan's dead body.

Detective Katz nodded and wrote some things down. "I still have a few more questions…"

* * *

_Just breathe. Remember those yoga things Ororo told you. I have nothing to hide, I should be fine…right?_ Kitty smiled nervously at the detective, Detective Lee Mason, across from her. He looked angry. Almost like some one had woken him up from a nap too soon. But he was still kind of dreamy in that whole cop way.

"State your name miss." He said.

"Kitty Pryde, er, Katherine. Katherine Pryde . . . but I prefer Kitty."

"Okay, Kitty. I want you to do something for me." Mason said. "I want you to take a deep breath and _relax_. I'm just going to ask you some questions. No one's in trouble … yet." He winked at her.

She breathed in deeply, the action doing nothing to calm her nerves. Yet. No one was in trouble _yet_. That meant they thought someone _should_ be in trouble. What if it was her?

"So, Kitty, did you see what happened to Mr. Matthews?"

"No, I was, like, in a different part of the house."

"How did you find out what had happened?"

"I heard someone screaming and went to see what was up and then someone like totally flipped out, screaming that Duncan was dead and then people started saying he was pushed, that he fell off, stuff like that."

"Do you know who pushed him off?"

"Some guy I think was fighting with him and he went over."

Detective Mason wrote something down on his paper. "Do you know where Scott Summers was?"

"Ohmigod! You guys think Scott did this?!" Kitty cried. "You've totally got it all wrong! It was like a total accident--!"

"Alright, calm down Miss Pryde." Lee Mason said "You still haven't answered my question."

Kitty looked over at one of the lawyers that the Professor got for them. He made a gesture that basically said 'go ahead and answer'. "I'm not sure where he was." She replied. "But I know he wasn't near the balcony. In fact, I think he was out front."

The detective raised a brow and simply stared at her.

"Alright, fine!" Kitty sighed. "That was a lie. I honestly don't know where Scott was, but I know he didn't like, push Duncan or whatever. I don't know who said he did, but they're wrong."

"Duly noted, Miss Pryde." Detective Mason smiled slightly for a brief second before getting back to business. "Was there a Mr. Alvers at the party?"

"Lance? Uh, yeah, he was there." Kitty replied, eyes darting right, then left then back on the detective across from her.

"Do you know what he was doing there?"

_Enabling Rogue_ she wanted to spit out, but didn't. "Um, probably just enjoying the party like everyone else."

"He wasn't selling drugs or anything else?"

"Not that I know of." She lied. Of course he was there selling drugs, Rogue was proof of that. But she couldn't exactly rat him out without ratting out Rogue too.

Detective Mason looked at his papers in front of him, picking one up to read. "We've heard that there was an altercation between you, Mr. Alvers and a Mr. Wager. Is that true?"

"Yeah." Kitty said quietly, hesitantly. She tried not to remember the way Lance pushed himself up against her, the way his smell choked her senses . . . the way that a secret, teeny-tiny part of her might have liked the attention from Lance.

"Care to explain what happened?"

"I. . ." Kitty stared, closed her mouth, swallowed hard and then tried again. "I was mad at Lance. We just broke up not too long ago and it was nasty and ugly and stuff and when I saw him, I kinda like, picked a fight with him. He thought I was coming on to him or whatever and then he just like…attacked me."

"Attacked you? Did he hit you?"

"No, he like totally tried to do me right there against the wall."

"Did he hurt you?" The detective's voice was tinted with concern and maybe…triumph? Excitement?

"No." Kitty shook her head. "He didn't get that far. Kurt like, saw him and totally fought him off. Very knight-in-shining-armor-like." She found that she was smiling slightly at the memory of Kurt heroics.

"Uh-huh." Mason nodded, scribbling something down on paper. "This Kurt is Mr. Wagner I presume?"

"Yeah." Kitty nodded.

Detective Mason put his pen down and folded his arms on the table, leaning in. "You wouldn't be able to tell me why there were reports of a 'blue demon' shortly after this fight, would you?"

A flash of panic shot through Kitty before she remembered to keep clam and stay neutral. "Blue demon?" She laughed, hoping it sounded real. "I think you might have been like, interviewing too many kids who were on acid at the time."

Detective Mason smiled. "Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but I had to ask. Department policy for when a bunch of people say the same thing, you know how it is."

_Oh thank god he bought it!_ Kitty was elated and unbelievably relieved on the inside, but remained relatively unfrazzled on the outside. Or at least, that how Kitty hoped she looked.

"Just a few more questions and then we'll finish up…"

* * *

"And then, get this, then she comes running up to me and kisses me."

"No vay!"

"Seriously! I had no idea what was happening. . . I only wish I had known ahead of time so that I might have been able to, you know, work some of the Summers magic."

" Summers' magic? Zhat vas gross, but I totally get vhere you're coming from man."

Rogue rolled her eyes and bounced her knees nervously while listening to Scott and Kurt inane and trying-to-be-quiet-but-really-not-succeeding banter. The detective's department, or where ever the hell they were in the dumpy police station was quiet, Bayville not really being big enough to employ 24/7 detectives. That was unless they had two rich snobs up their asses trying to find out why their son was killed. Then the detectives came in on their weekends. All three of them apparently. Jesus, this was taking forever. She could understand why Jean was taking so long; after all, the redhead had been right there. But what the hell were they talking to Kitty about?

_Fuck! That little brat better not be ratting me out!_ She thought suddenly, panic and anger creeping in. No, she told herself, Kitty wouldn't do that. She was too loyal for her own good. Rogue sighed irritatedly, looking up at the ceiling in boredom, and decided that she needed a break from being in here. At that moment, Ororo's hand clamped down on her bouncing knee.

"Do you have to go to the bathroom, child?" The weather goddess asked, not looking up from her issue of _People_.

"Actually, yeah." Rogue replied. "Can Ah go? Or do Ah need ta be chaperoned?"

Ororo ignored her attitude and looked down the hall. She pointed to ladies' room sign that stuck out from the wall. "Five minutes. If you not back by then, I'm coming in after you."

"Alright, alright." Rogue breathed, getting up from the bench along the wall outside the interrogation rooms and walking down the hall.

Once inside the bathroom, Rogue leaned against the door, breathing a sigh of relief. That had been easier than expected. Ororo and the Professor really trusted her too much. If she were them, she'd probably have herself on one of those baby-leashes. Rogue snickered to herself as she went along and peeked under the stalls, finding that she was alone. She then stuck her hand down her shirt and fished around in her bra for the joint that she stashed there. It looked a little worse for the wear, but it should be fine. Taking one boot off, a lighter that she had stuck inside clattered to the ground. Boots were really handy for hiding stuff in. Yeah, a couple of tokes off of this and she'd be just fine. She stuck the joint in between her lips and lit up. Maybe after this she'd go see Remy. . .

"Ah, you're just in time Ms. Darkholme."

Rogue returned from the bathroom, feeling much, much better and relaxed. Ororo and some detective guy were standing up, obviously waiting for her. Jean and Kitty had finally finished their questioning, Kurt was now gone as she saw. Kitty looked like she could use a stiff drink and Jean looked like she could desperately use some kind of narcotic pain killer. Or an anti-depressant. There were two other people, two other detectives Rogue presumed, a man and a woman standing a good distance away from the group chatting about something. The man she remembered from last night, he was one of the two guys that came to the house. The other one that had come to the house was standing next to Ororo.

Rogue drew even with the detective and Ororo, glaring at the detective. "Don't call me that." She all but growled.

"Rogue." Ororo immediately warned.

"Please." She added on, giving a falsely bright smile.

"Alright then. Rogue." He said, as if trying out the word for the first time. He held open a door to one of the interrogation rooms and motioned her inside. "I'm Detective Lee Mason. If you'll come inside I'd like to ask you a few questions about the other night."

"Whatever." Rogue shrugged and walked past the detective into the room. She slouched down in the chair and waited for him to sit down across from her. She winked at the people on the other side of the one-way window while he prattled off some information about cases and stuff.

"Ms. Darkholme. Rogue." Detective Mason started off, quickly correcting himself about Rogue's name. "You've had some problems at school." He said, looking over what Rogue guessed to be her file. "Ms. Munroe was just telling me outside that you were grounded from that party. I would think a girl like you would want to stay out of trouble, consider you've come mighty close to winding up in the system."

Rogue snorted. "Ya ain't gonna scare me. Ah've been in the system. Six foster homes in three years. Juvie ain't gonna scare me, so why don't we just get down ta business so we can all get out of here and ya can go back ta screwin' your wife or whatever." Rogue sat back in her chair. Something didn't feel quite right; she usually wasn't so snappy while high on just some tame, dry, joint. Whatever, like she cared.

"Okay." Detective Mason smiled tightly. "Where were you when Mr. Matthews was killed?"

"Sleepin' off some great sex. What's it to ya?"

"Could you be a bit more detailed?"

"Well, first Ah kissed Remy down stairs and then he shoved me up against the wall, Ah squeezed his fine ass--"

"Not those details." Mason said, holding up a hand in a 'stop' motion. "I meant afterwards."

"Oh, okay." Rogue nodded. "God, is it hot in here?" She rhetorically asked, taking off her purple zip-up sweatshirt. "Better . . . So, anyway, Ah wake up and hear someone screamin'. Ah got dressed, went down stairs ta see what all the hub-bub was about and Kitty stopped me and filled me in on what happened. Ah never even saw the balcony."

Detective Mason nodded as the door to the room opened and in walked another man. "Rogue, this is my colleague, Detective Marvin Katz. He's going to be helping me out."

"What's wrong, am Ah too much for ya ta handle?" Rogue drawled, a lazy smile curving her lips.

Mason gave her a condescending smile and Rogue could have sworn she heard a "yeah, right" under his breath while he was looking down at his paperwork.

Detective Katz however plowed on. "Ms. Darkholme, we've had numerous reports of you attacking a girl at this party. It's been mostly her friends coming forward on her behalf, but so far she hasn't said anything. Would you know anything about that?"

Rogue however, had she been coherent enough to do so, would have just figured out that she had not, in fact, smoked a "harmless" blunt in the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago. But rather, the baggie she had found had contained her wet sticks, marijuana joints dipped in embalming fluid. And the high was just starting to hit her. . .

"Rogue? Ms. Darkholme? Are you listening?" Detective Mason said.

Rogue just sat perfectly still, except for her eyes darting wildly around in her head.

Both detectives just watched her for a second. "Shit. You don't think she's high on something, do you?" Mason asked, leaning over the table slightly and peering at Rogue like she was some kind of specimen.

"Not sure." Katz replied, getting up from his seat. "Probably though. Have you seen her rap sheet?"

"Not to mention the other reports she's been mentioned in." The other man replied, going around to the other side of the table to stand next to Rogue. "Rogue? Can you hear me? Ms. Darkholme?"

The laying of his hand on her shoulder had been a mistake. There was no absorption as her brain was too muddled with chemicals to handle it but those same chemicals were causing Rogue not to see two detectives in an interrogation room. What she saw was a dirty, bloody, scary room with shackles hanging off the walls and two snarling drooling beasts with claws the size of her fingers coming towards her. Something heavy landed on her shoulder and she saw one of them there, breathing its hot putrid breath on her face, emitting a low hungry growl. Truly terrifying. This was why at that moment, Rogue let out an ear piecing scream.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" Mason yelped, letting go of her shoulder as if he had been burned.

"Get the hell away from me!" Rogue screeched. "Stay away!" She scrambled backwards towards the wall, knocking over her chair in the process. Once her back hit the wall, her eyes lighted on the chair (a flaming torch in her drug-induced world) and she seized it, holding it out in front of her like a weapon.

"Get Ramirez in here, I think we're going to have a problem with this one." Katz ordered and Mason fled out of the room, past a group of bewildered looking X-Men.

"Easy Ms. Darkholme, just calm down." Detective Katz said, hands up in a defensive manner. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Fuck you!" She screamed back at him, white locks falling into her face.

"What is going on in here?" Ororo was in the door way, and was quickly pushed aside to let Detective Mason and a woman detective, Ramirez apparently, back in.

"Ma'am, we'd appreciate it if you'd stayed out in the hall. We don't want you, or anyone else, getting hurt." Detective Ramirez said on her way into the room.

"Let me outta here! Leave me alone!" Rogue was screaming.

"We will, we will, just put the chair down." Detective Mason said with his hands up, taking a few tentative steps towards Rogue.

It was a mistake. Rogue let out a rage-filled scream and hurled the chair at the three detectives, who managed to duck away from it. As it clattered against the far wall, Katz shouted, "Now!"

Ramirez and Mason dove at Rogue, taking her down to the ground. She began screaming and thrashing, managing to knee Detective Mason in the face. The air was filled with even more cursing as Mason lurched back and Katz managed to pin Rogue's feet down to the ground.

"Try and get her on her stomach!" Ramirez yelled over the din.

"Fuck you!"

"Rogue, stop resisting—!"

"Ow! She bit me!"

"Get the hell off of me!"

Eventually they forced Rogue onto her stomach, with a bite mark on her arm for Ramirez, a knee in the face and a nasty scratch on his arm for Mason and a couple of kicks in the shin for Katz. It took another five minutes for the three of them just to get Rogue cuffed and by that time, other officers who were in other parts of the building had drifted down from what they had been doing and were utilized to help transport Rogue to the holding cells.

"Where are you taking her?" Ororo asked as four burly officers bodily carried off a loudly protesting Rogue.

A medic had been summoned down as well and was looking at Detective Ramirez's bite wound after handing an instant cold pack to Detective Mason, which he clutched to his face while answering Ororo. "We've got to hold her at least over night for assault on an officer. I've got two uniforms searching the bathroom for whatever she's high on…I would keep these lawyers of yours in close contact for a while." With a slight glare at Ororo, he left her, going over to where Katz was on the phone.

Charles was going to catch an earful from her.

* * *

A/N: Well, I hope 12 pages on Word is enough to make up for the last update and long period of time since. So yeah, looks like Rogue is really in for it now, huh? Leave me a review and let me know what you think! And speaking of, I'm going to try my hardest to answer reviews when I get them and not when I update. So if like, two weeks pass and I still haven't replied, nag me at my e-mail address.

And thanks to all the people who left me one-line or anonymous reviews, I love you all!

Mercedes Watson.


	5. Screw This

_Runaway Rogue_  
Chapter 5  
Screw This

_Whoa...Oh…shit._ Rogue sat up with a groan, the cot beneath her creaking under the shifting of her weight. She supposed that this wasn't a good thing, waking up in a jail cell. What did she do this time? And why were her muscles so sore? Slowly, it came back to her; the bathroom, the yelling and fighting, the questions. After the yelling, things got blurry, distorted. Fuck. Shit, damn it, fuck, she was so screwed! Ororo was probably going to tie her to a lightening rod on the roof the next time she felt like thoroughly watering the flowers by virtue of a thunderstorm. Why did it have to be the bag full of sticks? Didn't she lose them or leave them somewhere? Apparently not. Rogue lie back down in the creaky, scratchy cot and saw that outside the barred window it was still dark. Meaning Ororo was probably letting her spend the night here to have her "think about" what she did. Did that ever work for anybody?

"Alright sleeping beauty, rise and shine. Someone's paid your bail."

Rogue groaned and opened her eyes, seeing that it was daylight now from the strips of sunlight cast on the concrete floor. She sat up in her "bed" and rubbed at her eyes before swinging her legs over the edge and standing.

"C'mon. I ain't got all day." The guard groused, tapping the bars with his nightstick. Rogue ignored him while he unlocked the cell, instead stretching, reaching over her head so far that she rose up off her heels and onto her tiptoes. She held the pose for a few seconds before dropping it quickly with a satisfied grunt. The guard then waved her out of the cell and she followed him out of the cell block.

They gave her back her stuff after making her sign some papers and promising to appear at a later court date. Then came Ororo. She was standing in the middle of the waiting room in all her regal glory. The dirt and relative grime of the place seemed to shy away from her, even the light didn't seem worthy enough to shine on her; instead she emitted her own. And, Rogue thought, on some level, she was. Because she wasn't exuding her natural beauty like she always did; it was power. Angry power. On the outside, the weather goddess looked calm, collected. But Rogue knew better. She could see Ororo's anger in the thin line of her lips, the tenseness of the muscles under her skin. Ororo was royally pissed off, but was keeping herself in check. She had to be or else there would be some kind of end-of-days storm going on outside. Right?

"Hi." Rogue said, her voice sounding small as the officer that escorted her out of the jail left them.

Ororo just sort of…looked at Rogue. Like she was staring at a stranger on the street. "Come on." She said, in a tone that bespoke of no anger. It was completely neutral. Which gave Rogue the tiny glimmer of hope that, however improbable it was, maybe she wasn't in _that_ much trouble after all. Maybe she had only imagined the anger bubbling beneath the neutral face and stance.

. . . Nope. Not even close.

Ororo had just been saving it all up only to explode at Rogue inside the confines of the Professor's office.

"How could you be so stupid?! At the police station! _About to be questioned by the police_!" Ororo railed at her while Rogue slouched in one of the cushioned chairs across from the Professor's desk. "We have tried again and again and again and again. Yet you throw our help right back in our faces and then disgrace us with _this_! Do you realize how lucky you are that they didn't find whatever you happened to be on? Do you? ...Answer me!"

"Yeah, Ah guess." Rogue mumbled, flinching at the volume of Ororo's voice. She glanced up at Charles from under her fringe of bangs to see him watching the proceedings before him. It looked like he was allowing Ororo to have this rant before speaking himself.

Ororo sighed in frustration at Rogue's less-than-enthusiastic answer. "What happened, child? You are a bright beautiful young woman and yet you insist upon carrying on like this."

"Ah dunno." Rogue murmured, shrugging her shoulders.

Ororo sighed again, this time in defeat and collapsed into the chair next to Rogue. "I'm done. Your turn Professor."

The Professor steepled his fingers and regarded Rogue for a moment before speaking. His hands fell from the position near his face to fold themselves neatly on his desk in front of him.

"What you have done is unacceptable, Rogue. With this latest stunt, you have embarrassed me, Ororo, your friends, this school and yourself, though you do not seem to realize it."

_Oh boy. Here it comes. Ah'm kicked out for sure._ Rogue thought, her heart quickening slightly as panic began to seep into her.

"We have tried many times before to help you, to cope with your problems as a unified front. And yet almost every time you have refused and continued down the path you are on now. I have seen the end of that path, Rogue, and I _will not_ allow one of my students to reach it." He paused and Rogue could feel the tension in the room skyrocket. "This is why tomorrow, Tuesday morning, you will be enrolled at Changing Valley Rehabilitation Center for Mutants."

"WHAT?!" Rogue exploded. "You're sendin' me ta rehab?!"

"Please let me finish" Charles spoke over her. "And since that you have proven that you can not be left up to your own devices even for short periods of time, I shall be monitoring your whereabouts through telepathy—"

"What the fuck is that?! You can't invade my head like that, readin' every thought—"

"I will not pry into your thoughts, Rogue, just your location—"

"Bull-fuckin'-shit!" Rogue screamed, getting to her feet so forcefully that the chair she had been sitting in fell backwards. "You're gonna try ta mind control me and _make_ me go there. You can't do that, it's against the law. Ah don't need no goddamn rehab! You can't make me go!"

"Rogue, you are going to go—"

"Fuck you! Nobody tells me what ta do! And Ah'm _not_ goin' ta rehab!" With that final declaration, Rogue stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"…That went better than expected." Ororo said in the heavy silence that hung about afterward.

"Indeed." Charles said, rubbing at his temples.

* * *

_Kitty, ve need to talk. I lied after ze movie. I really like you. Want to go out? . . . Nein, to forvard. . .Kitty, about ze movie...nein, nein. Kitty, zhat's a really nice shirt your vearing…Ach, vhat am I zhinking, she vears ze same pink sveater almost everyday!_ Kurt stopped pacing in front of his bed and threw himself back on it. How did he get into this mess? Why couldn't he have just opened up his mouth for once and actually say what he felt? No, he had to wimp out like he always did. Kurt sighed and took comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one with girl trouble. He felt bad for Scott, really he did. Poor guy had to sit there and watch his dream girl tear herself to shreds over another guy while she leaned heavily on him for "friendly" support. Though, he didn't feel bad enough to want to take his friend's place. He had to admire Scott's integrity though, Kurt himself wasn't sure if he'd be able to do the same if Kitty was in the same situation as Jean.

_Vhat am I talking about? Of course I vould._ He chastised himself, knowing that he would probably shut up and take it like he always did.

Maybe he was tied of not getting what he wanted.

What if he got up right now, found Kitty, and told her exactly how he felt? What was the worst that could happen? She told him that she didn't feel the same way but that he was still a really great guy and that they should still be friends? That wasn't so bad (despite what the sudden block of ice in his stomach told him).He'd live. He'd get over it. He'd mope for a few days, maybe eat one to many Gut Bomb burgers and play too many video games but he'd get over it…right?

Well, there was only one real way to find out.

* * *

Kitty 'eep'ed as she saw a huge chunk of metal flying towards her. A split second's concentration and it sailed right through her. That's right, _through_ her. She was currently running a Danger Room sim with Storm, who seemed to be just as distracted as she was.

_Hopefully, it's, like, not about the same thing_. Kitty thought as she dodged a laser beam. Because a romance between Kurt and Ororo just struck her as weird.

_Focus Pryde!_ Kitty scolded herself as a laser singed the very spot she had been standing in less than a millisecond ago. The focus of this sim was for her to get down the alley/ obstacle course as fast as she could while lasers would intermittently shoot at her and make stuff near her explode. She leaped up onto the chain-link fence in front of her and scrambled up it. This would be so much easier if she could just phase through everything, but Ororo had said no. As she jumped down, a laser grazed her arm and burned a hole through her uniform, leaving a minor burn on her skin. Kitty looked up at the observation deck, expecting Ororo to end the sim as per usual when a student was injured. _Great, she's like not even paying attention!_ She mentally shouted in irritation while taking cover behind a Dumpster. She waited a few more seconds, maybe Ororo had seen it and was just being slow to react, however doubtful that was. Kitty looked up again and saw that the weather goddess was still apparently lost in thought, a slight scowl on her features.

"Screw this." Kitty muttered under her breath, getting up and making herself intangible. She walked through the rest of the sim, lasers and debris going right through her. At the end of the alley was a dead end with a flag stuck in the ground, cordoned off by another chain-link fence. She walked through it and yanked the flag out of the ground, an alarm bell going off. A few seconds later all activity stopped in the alley and faded away into nothingness, along with the flag and the alarm.

"Finished already, Kitty?" She heard Ororo's voice float over the intercom.

"No, I like totally got singed and ended things my way." She said, pointing to her arm.

"Come on up and I'll take a look at it."

Kitty did as she was told and took the access stairs up to the observation deck. "I'm guessing you missed my totally cool back flip too." She said upon entering the room.

"I'm sorry Kitty; I should have been paying more attention." Ororo apologized, gently taking Kitty's arm and examining it.

"I guess its okay." Kitty shrugged. "I wasn't exactly on my game either." She explained. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Storm smiled briefly before sighing. "The Professor, Dr. McCoy, and myself have decided to send Rogue to a rehabilitation center."

Kitty gasped. "Really?" At Ororo's nod she added, "She didn't take it to well, did she?"

"No, it put it lightly." She smiled ruefully. "I can't help but wonder if it's the right decision for her. She looked so betrayed…"

"It's okay Ms. Munroe. "Kitty comforted. "Like, the stuff you guys were trying with her here obviously wasn't working."

"No, it wasn't."

". . . When does she leave?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Wow, you guys are serious aren't you?"

"This will sound horrible of me, and of Charles and Hank, but it was so she would have minimal chance to escape."

Kitty giggled sarcastically. "I wouldn't put it past Rogue. It's probably a good idea." She said. "If there's anything I can do, to like help or anything, 'cause, you know, I like wanna see her better too."

"Thank you Kitty." Ororo said. "If you could keep an eye on her?"

"No prob." Kitty said. "Well, I better get down to the med lab and have Dr. McCoy put burn cream on this or whatever, right?"

"Ah-ah. Not so fast." Ororo tittered. "You haven't completed your part of the deal." She sat down near the control console and patted the seat next to her.

Kitty sighed and her shoulders slumped. "This close, I was this close." She sat in the chair that Ororo had offered.

"Is it about a boy?" The older woman asked, somewhat knowingly.

"Ugh, I'm not like all about boys you know." The Valley Girl replied, offended. "But yeah, it kinda is about a boy." She dropped her head down and picked at her sleeve. "Actually, it's about Kurt."

"Did something happen between you two?"

"Yeah…but you have to promise not to tell anyone! I mean it, not even like, the Professor or Dr. McCoy."

"My lips are sealed." Ororo smiled, making a zipping motion across her lips.

"Okay. So like, the other day I kinda…kissed Kurt," she said. "But it was totally meant as like a thank-you kiss. At least, that's what I thought before I did it. Now I'm not so sure."

"Have you spoken to Kurt about this?"

"No…well, kinda. I went by his room that same night to talk to him and he was watching this movie and invited me in, so I went in. And yeah, I totally know about the no-other-people-in-rooms-after-eight but we just watched the movie, I swear." Kitty explained. "After it was over, we were talking about the questioning and stuff 'cause I was kinda nervous and then we got back to the kiss and then it didn't really look like he wanted to be something else either, so I lied and told him it really was just a thank-you kiss."

Ororo was quiet in thought for a moment. "It seems you have gotten yourself into quite a predicament."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Kitty replied, rolling her eyes.

"It would seem the wise thing to do would be to tell Kurt how you really feel."

"I knew you were going to say something like that!" She exclaimed, dropping her head into her hands. "Can't I like just get Jean to plant the idea into his head or something?"

"While easier, I don't think Kurt would appreciate it." Ororo said a slight smile on her face. "Besides, you know that you're not allowed to use yours, or your friend's powers for that matter, for personal gain."

"Yeah, I know, I know. I read the school brochure too." Kitty said, getting up.

"Why don't you go see Hank about your arm and I'll speak to the Professor about rescheduling our session?"

"Deal." Kitty smiled and turned to leave. As soon as she had left, she turned around and poked her head back into the room. "Ms. Munroe?"

"Yes Kitty?"

"Thank you."

Ororo smiled. "Not a problem. You know we're always here for you."

"I know."

* * *

Jubilee was in the kitchen seeing if she could get away with sneaking a mid-afternoon snack. There was so much gossip worthy stuff that was flying around this house; it took extra energy to keep up with it all. That, and she was bored after having been stuck at the Institute all day. School had been cancelled because of what happened at the party over the weekend.

_Man, I so wish I could have been there. I bet it was killer._ She thought, climbing up onto the counter to look in the dark recesses of the top cabinets for the various stashes of the "good" snacks that Kitty, Kurt and Jean and some other members of the house kept hidden away from every one else. The Milanos that were usually back there were gone, coming at no surprise to Jubilee. They were usually Jean's and the young girl figured that Jean needed them for comfort food.

The phone rang and Jubilee nearly jumped a mile out of her skin and nearly fell off the counter.

After steadying herself, the phone kept ringing and Jubilee climbed down and answered it. "Xavier Institute. Whaddya want?"

"This is Mrs. Matthews; may I speak with Jean Grey please?"

"Sure thing, lemme get her." Jubilee put the phone to her chest to muffle it and then screamed out, "JEAN!"

When there was no reply, Jubilee counted to ten in English and then again in Spanish, figuring it could be her Spanish homework for the night. "JEAN! Telefono por favor!"

"Oh my God, like Jubes, shut half your mouth." Kitty said, walking into the kitchen, light bandage on her arm. She saw the phone in Jubilee's possession. "Oh, please tell me you're not yelling like that and someone important is on the phone."

"Nah, just Mrs. Matthews. She wants to talk to Jean about something."

Kitty felt her eyes widen. "Jubes! Gimme that! She probably thinks were all a bunch of crazy hooligans now thanks to you!" She said, lunging for the phone.

Jubilee danced away, tangling herself in the cord a bit. (They had had a cordless phone but it had gotten lost somewhere after one of Kitty's three hour conversations with Lance). "Nuh-uh. I answered it, so I get to keep it. And she does not think we're a bunch of loonies." She stuck her tongue out at Kitty. "JEAN!"

"That's not going to work!" Kitty pleaded.

At that moment, Jean walked in looking very tired.

"Ha!" Jubilee crowed in triumph. "It totally does work."

"No, it doesn't." Jean cut off whatever snarky remark Kitty was about to make. "You just happen to project very loudly when you yell. I couldn't help but hear you." She grabbed the phone from Jubilee, who marched over to the fridge and retrieved a can of soda before returning to her TV watching in the rec room. "Hello?" She said upon putting the phone to her ear.

Kitty watched with mild curiosity as Jean nodded and spoke with Mrs. Matthews about something. Whatever it was, it probably had something to do with Duncan because when Jean hung up she looked even more tired and strained that she had been upon walking into the kitchen.

"What is it?" she asked.

Jean sighed. "Mrs. Matthews wanted to make sure that I knew that I was welcome to come to the funeral. She said that from some of the things she's heard, that I might think otherwise."

"You mean like someone starting rumors that you or Scott did it?"

Jean nodded.

"So are you gonna go?"

Jean hesitated, biting her lip. "I…I don't know. I don't think I'll be safe there."

"Safe? Why? What happened?" Kitty asked, confused look on her face.

"Nothing." Jean said, waving off Kitty's concern. "Taryn's just giving me a hard time." She decided not to let her in on some of the threatening instant messages she had been getting while online or about the full depth of Taryn's actions.

"Want me to e-mail her a virus?" Kitty offered.

"No." Jean shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "Ugh, that just told me how bad I need to shower."

Kitty smiled. "Yeah, normally I would have like, said something, but with all this stuff, I'd figured you could be skuzzy for a while."

"Nice to know I have your approval." Jean said as she left, a slight note of laughter slipping into her voice.

There was blissful, rare quiet in the kitchen for a few moments until a bamfing noise was heard, and the smell of smoke and brimstone assaulted Kitty's senses. "Kurt, like, watch where you're 'porting!"

"Sorry Kitty." Kurt said, jumping down from the island in the center of the kitchen that he had landed on. "Vhere have you been, I've been looking all over for you."

"Well, I _was_ in the Danger Room with Storm, but then this happened, "she pointed to her arm, "and I went to see Dr. McCoy about it and he says I should be fine and now I'm here."

"Vhat happened?" Kurt asked, voice laced with concern and eyes fixed on her arm where the bandage was.

"I got burned by a laser. Dr. McCoy says it isn't that bad and it should heal in a few days."

"Vhy didn't you just phase?" His eyes left the bandage and settled on her face.

"That's kinda a two-prater." Kitty said. "The first one was that I wasn't allowed to phase as part of the exercise. The second one is that even if I could have, I think that I would have been too distracted to realize it."

At Kurt's confused look, Kitty grabbed his hand, dragged him over to the table, and sat down.

"Kurt…about what happened after the movie the other night…"

"_Ja_, zhat's vhy I vas looking for you earlier."

Kitty blinked. "Really?"

"_Ja_. Vhat happened aftervards—vhy don't you go first?"

"No, you already started."

"Ladies first."

They both glanced somewhat sheepishly at each other. Kitty tucked a lock of brown hair behind her head while Kurt absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the table.

_Just tell her already_!

_Like, spit it out already Pryde_!

"I really like you!" They both blurted out at the same time.

Kurt's face was fully shocked while Kitty giggled. "Wow, that was kinda freaky."

"Tell me about it." Kurt smiled.

"So about that kiss…"

"Let me guess, you lied too?"

"Totally." Kitty smiled.

Silence overtook them in which they just smiled goofily at each other, Kurt more so than Kitty. "So, uh, vhat do ve do now?" Kurt asked. "Do you vant to go to zhe movies or somezhing?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." Kitty nodded. "But we totally have to keep it a secret. There is just too much drama going on right now and I think if Jubilee get any more bits of gossip, her head's gonna explode."

Kurt laughed. "Ok, it'll be our secret."

* * *

As soon as she slammed the door behind her, Rogue cranked up Mushroomhead as loud as it would go on her stereo. Those goddamn _assholes_! Who the hell did they think they were? They can't send her off to some rehab clinic; she _did not_ have a problem. They were totally overreacting. Stupid Jean got to go around to parties, get wasted, and fuck the living daylights out of whomever she wanted. But when Rogue wanted to have a little fun? Oh no, keep her locked up and away from everyone else because no one knew what the fuck was going on with her. The freak among freaks with "unlimited potential". Stupid assholes.

Rogue felt like throwing something. Her eyes lighted on Lockheed, grabbed it by the neck, and chucked it across the room. Of course, since it was stuffed, it only bounced off the mirror and didn't break it like she wanted it to.

Goddamn it!

They were going to send her away because nobody gave a fuck about her. Chuck kept promising her control of her powers, telling her that she would get it one day.

"It's been over a fuckin' year!" Rogue screamed aloud, barely hearing herself over the music. They just wanted her around because of her powers. They didn't really want her to get control because they knew that as soon as she did get control, she wouldn't use her powers as much, if at all. If she had control, why would she ever want to go back to being untouchable? She wouldn't and that was why they kept feeding her lies; telling her she would get control, that she would fit in. What a load of bullshit! She got to watch all her so-called friends play with and develop their powers while Rogue was still stuck trying to get control. No one else here was like her. The only person that was remotely close to being like her was Remy.

_They wanna take me away from Remy too!_

The thought hit her like a ton of bricks. If she went to that rehab place, then she wouldn't be able to visit him. What if he woke up while she was gone? What if he forgot about her and the only chance for some semblance of happiness in this miserable, cursed life of hers would be gone. _Then _she'd be stuck here, to be used by the Professor in his little quest for a stupid dream that was never going to happen.

"You're just like everyone else!" She screamed at the closed door.

Rogue went over to her closet and grabbed a duffle bag. She threw it on her bed and began throwing clothes into it from her dresser. If they wanted to keep her here and make her be what they wanted her to be and just use her for her powers like Mystique and Destiny did, then fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all! She was called Rogue for a reason goddamnit and it wasn't because she went along with everyone else's rules.

Once Rogue's bag was packed to her liking, she stood out on the balcony. The late afternoon breeze ruffled her hair as she looked out over the grounds for probably the last time. She closed her eyes.

_Ah am in my room. Ah am in my room, lying' on my bed, all pissed off about this whole thing. Ah am in my room, lying' on my bed, all pissed off but Ah can't do anythin' about it 'cause the Prof is watchin' me. Ah don't want ta be found. Don't find me, leave me the hell alone. Ah am in my room, Ah don't want ta be found. Please, just let my head do whatever it does whenever Ah really don't want ta be found. _

It was a mantra in her head as she jumped down from the balcony. She kept repeating it over and over as she made it off the grounds. She hoped to whatever was out there that it was working. That the psyches were doing something good for once and making static or whatever it was that they did. Because she didn't want to be found. She was tired of the rules, tired of the people, tired of hiding. She wanted to be with people who were like her.

When she made it to Bayville General Hospital and so far no storm clouds had suddenly started brewing, Rogue figured that she was doing something right. She managed to make it up to Intensive Care room 16 without being detected by anybody. Quietly, she shut the door behind her and dropped her bag into a chair. It was still dimly lit, just the way she had left it. He would like it that way, she thought, hopping up to sit on the side of his bed. Too much light would hurt his eyes.

"Hi." She whispered.

Remy looked a bit better than the last time she saw him. Not as dead looking, he looked as if he was sleeping now.

"You're lookin' better Gumbo." She said. "The bruises that them cops gave ya are startin' ta heal."

She took his hand into her gloved on and toyed with it a little bit. She remembered the way those hands felt on her body. His touch was special; it was not like anything she had remembered from her youth, before Cody. It was tingly and warm and safe and sensual and a million other things that she couldn't describe. Was she imagining that their heated tryst at Duncan's party was special, or was that only because it was her first time? Did he think it was special?

"Ah came by ta let ya know that Ah probably won't be around as much as Ah've been the past couple of days." She said aloud. "Ah had some trouble back at ho—the Institute. They just—they just don't understand, ya know? Not like you and me."

She dropped his hand and smiled ruefully. "Now don't ya go and wake up on me when Ah'm not here. But that don't mean Ah want ya ta stay asleep forever….Just call me or somethin' before ya wake up. And you better wake up or else you're gonna wish ya ended up like that Logan friend of yours." She slid off the bed and wiped at her eyes, not caring that she smeared her mascara. She grabbed her bag off the chair where she left it and opened the door. She opened her mouth to say something just before she walked out but found she couldn't think of anything. So she left, closing the door behind her.


	6. Goodbyes

_The Ripple Effect_  
Chapter 6  
Goodbyes

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She was going out on a date with Kurt. How cool was that? It had been freaky yet cool how they had both blurted out the same thing at the same time. It was nice to be on the same wavelength as someone else for once.

Kitty sighed happily as she climbed the stairs, heading to her and Rogue's room to check up on her. She gained the top of the steps and could already hear the rock music blasting from behind the closed door of their room. Great, checking up on a seriously pissed off Rogue was seriously her pure definition of fun. It sounded like that one band she usually played when she was really upset or angry. What was it, Mushhead or something?

_Who cares _ Kitty thought. _All I know is that I'm losing years off of the life of my eardrums right now._ She grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open, bracing herself against the assault of what sounded like a howler monkey playing a guitar all the way cranked up. Covering her ears, she went over to the stereo and flicked it off, resisting the temptation to just phase through it and short it out.

"Rogue?" She called out in the new silence, dropping her hands. "…Hey, what are you doing over here?" She mumbled to herself, finding Lockheed across the room from where he usually was perched on her bed. She picked him up and looked around the room more. The drawers were left open and upon looking inside, it looked like clothes were missing.

_Oh no…_Kitty poked her head into the open closet, making sure that Rogue wasn't playing games with her. She turned around and saw that the doors to the balcony were wide open. "If I ever get my hands on her…." Kitty breathed, dropping Lockheed on the bed and racing out into the hall.

The trip to the Professor's office was probably the fastest she had ever made it, even with phasing through all the walls and rooms in her way.

"Professor!" Kitty called out, frantically banging on the closed door. "Professor!"

The door swung open and revealed Charles sitting at his desk and Jean was across from him. It looked like they were having a talk of some kind. "Like, sorry to like barge in and stuff but Rogue's gone again."

"Again?" Jean repeated, eyebrows rising on her head.

"Yeah." Kitty nodded. "I think she's serious this time too; there was a bunch of clothes missing and stuff."

Kitty looked to the Professor who seemed to fall into a trance for a few seconds, his eyes becoming glassy and unfocused. After a few moments of quiet anticipation, he blinked and frowned. "Damn." Charles breathed and then focused his attention on Kitty. "Kitty, would you please inform Ororo as to what's happened?"

"Got it." Kitty nodded and phased through the wall.

Charles turned his attention to Jean. "It looks as though we'll have to cut our talk short."

Jean nodded. "Yeah, I think this is a bit more important." She smiled wryly and got up to leave.

"Jean, could you do me a favor and tell Scott to put together a small team of some of the older students while I call the police?"

"Sure thing." She replied. "War Room in ten minutes?"

The Professor shook his head. "No, no need for any of that. Let's meet in the garage in ten minutes."

Jean nodded again and left while Charles picked up the phone and dialed. Rogue was either somehow not anywhere near the Institute already or was trying her damnedest not to be found. He sighed while waiting for an operator to pick up. He had hoped that she would be more reasonable and mature than she had been about this. Apparently she was farther gone than he had thought.

* * *

Rogue shifted her gaze around the bus depot, scanning over the faces of the people there. So far, no X-Men. Not that they would be hard to spot around this group of people. They would stick out like sore thumbs against a backdrop of drug addicts, other runaways, and nervous looking normal people that the depot provided. Rogue sat back in her chair, bag in her lap and closed her eyes with an even breath. She was going to need a hit of something, anything, soon. She didn't care if it was a joint or a line of coke, long as it stopped the tingling sensation in the back of her head and tremor under her skin. This feeling wasn't unfamiliar and she knew it to not be withdraw. It was her powers slowly returning as her brain figured out how to work around the damage done by the various chemicals and compounds she regularly ingested. The tingling in her head was the psyches reforming and the tremor was from whatever mechanism inside of her that absorbed the psyches slowly awakening. The first time it had happened, she had been finally coming down off of a pot high about a week later. Getting tremors and weird tingling for seemingly nothing had made her freak out a bit and consider that she might be dying. So she hit up the Internet and found that it actually took about a week for weed to mostly leave her system. A stupid pamphlet from the guidance office at Bayville High (a trip that had been sponsored by Jean) also said that it could be in her hair for months, but she couldn't believe everything she read. Why the fuck would weed go to her hair? That was just stupid. The wonder of modern science, puh-lease. 

"Rogue!" Someone shouted behind her while clamping their hand down on her shoulder. "Ah'm not goin' back!" Rogue shouted, twisting viciously out of her seat and whoever's grasp.

A startled Risty looked back at her. "That's great, but no need to shout it in my face."

The Southerner sighed. "Sorry Rist. Ah thought ya were Kitty or somebody."

"Well, I'm not." She shoved at Rogue's bag. "What's with the bag? Roadtrip?"

"Sorta." Rogue replied, shifting its weight on her shoulder. "Ah've decided ta take a break from the Institute."

"Wonderful!" Risty clapped her hands together once, looking as if Rogue had just made some great, beneficial decision. And in her eyes, it was. "They were entirely too strict with ya, luv." She paused and her face lit up with an idea. "Hey, you could stay at my house with my host fam. They won't notice."

Rogue bit her lip, unsure. "Ah don't know….they're pretty dense, but Ah think they'll notice a whole other person."

Risty rolled her eyes. "Then make up some rubbish about a real-world lesson. They think you're all sodding mad anyway….Which means they won't let them in if you-know-who comes looking." She added on in a sing-song voice.

Rogue snorted, a slight smile on her face. "They're not that far off," she mumbled and scrubbed at the back of her head with a gloved hand before adding, "Alright. Sounds like fun."

"Excellent!" Risty exclaimed and grabbed Rogue by her gloved hand. "C'mon, if we hurry, we can be in and out of the house before they remember I came back from England today."

* * *

"I don't get it. It's like she vanished into thin air." Scott pushed his bangs out of his face, looking in all directions at the intersection. 

"Looks like she was listening during those Danger Room sessions after all."

Scott turned to see Jean standing behind him, leaning against a street pole with her arms folded across her chest and a ghost of a smile on her face. Scott smiled at her.

Jean looked back at him and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"You could say that."

What little smile there was vanished. "I'm depressed, Scott. I'm not dead." She snapped.

"I didn't—"

"That is just so typical! I just watched one of my friends fucking _die_ and I can't even have two seconds to myself to grieve because everyone wants the popular redhead back! You know what? Maybe I'm tired of being her, maybe I wanna be like Rogue and hate everyone and sulk all the time!"

Scott blinked owlishly behind his visor, unseen, and a silence hung in the air between them, filled only with the surrounding sounds of the neighborhood.

Jean sighed and cleared the hair out of her eyes that had become dislodged during her venting. She was being ridiculous. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. It's just…"

"I know." He simply replied, putting an arm around her as they walked back down the quasi-urban street towards Scott's car.

"Do you?" Jean asked, stopping and pushing his arm off of her and looking at him directly. "Do you really, Scott?"

"Yeah." He looked at some point past her ear before looking back at her. "How do you think I felt after the plane crash and being shipped right off to a foster home?"

The guilty realization hung thick in the air for Jean. "Oh."

"Yeah. People sort of forget that I didn't just appear here one day, dressed like this."

"I'm sorry Scott. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." He waved her concern off. "It's better in a way 'cause then I don't have it hanging in my face all the time, ya know?"

"Yeah, I guess." Jean replied, flashes of Annie being hit by that car going through her mind. "Then every one expects you to act one way, all the time. Don't you ever get tired of it?"

Scott shrugged and started walking back towards the car again, motioning for Jean to follow him. "I never really cared about what everyone thought. I mean, people like the Prof and Ororo and you are different but if I feel like staying up 'til three in the morning playing Halo with Kurt one night and then going to be at ten the next night, that's what I'm gonna do."

Jean shook her head. "That's different. The Institute's like home—we can do whatever we want there. School's different…there's so much stuff that goes into it for me. The soccer team's one way and the yearbook club is another and then there's tutoring…" She trailed off with a sigh, feeling tired at the very thought of going back to all of that once the school reopened after grief counseling and short classes on Thursday, before the funeral.

Scott shook his head and smiled slightly. "You know, Jean, high school isn't going to last forever. In three weeks, we'll never see those people again probably." _If there is any kind of kind God that is_, he added on silently to himself.

She gave him a light shove. "I heard that. You're so horrible—but right."

"I know I am." He grinned cheekily. "But seriously, no one's going to remember everything that ever happened in high school. I bet you that you don't remember half the people you know now five years from now."

A frown formed on Jean's lips. "You're not doing a very good job of cheering me up."

They reached the car and Scott opened the door for her. "Look, all I'm trying to say is just chill out." He explained as he shut the door once she got in. "You've got more important things coming up. Like pre-med at NYU." He walked around to the other side of the car and got in.

"Ugh." Jean groaned, rolling her eyes. "Don't remind me, I think I might have a panic attack."

"Don't, or I'll have to take you out for another milkshake. Free of bitchy Taryn and all her harpies though."

Jean smiled and shook her head and Scott put the car into gear. "You are so detrimental to my grief-wallowing depression right now."

"I know."

* * *

They scoured the city, breaking it up into sections with a team of two to search for Rogue. Risty's house was to be checked by Charles Xavier himself, but Risty's parents would not allow him in and there was no mental sign of Rogue on the inside. No one reported back with even a sighting of Rogue. The Professor could have dragged everyone to New York City and search for Rogue there, but by the time they all realized that she wasn't in Bayville anymore (or so it seemed) it was too late in the evening to do so. The police promised to keep an eye out for her in both Bayville and in New York, but weren't making any kind of promises. Thursday, the day of Duncan's funeral rolled around and there was still no sign of Rogue. It was the farthest thing from Jean's mind though as she put simple post earrings in and looked over her black dress suit one last time. She checked her hair, pulled back into a simple yet elegant low ponytail, and, satisfied, grabbed her matching bag and left her room. Some of the members of the mansion were already milling about in the foyer, mostly guys as the girls that were going were still getting ready. Jean just hadn't had the energy to really go all out and put on make up. It seemed too macabre to primp for the funeral of her former boyfriend. Kitty met her at the top of the stairs in a simple black dress. It was going to be murder in all this black with the summer sun. 

"So, like, ready?" Kitty awkwardly asked. Jean knew that she didn't want to go, like most of the teens that were going, but at least the brunette was being nice enough act like she cared.

"I guess." Jean replied on a sigh. Could anyone ever really be ready for the funeral of a friend? Was she ready to see his pale face lying in that glorified pine box, ready to be returned to the earth? She offered Kitty a weak smile before they started down the stairs, knowing that whatever happened, she would have friends here to help her get through it.

The members of the Institute sat in the back of the church, or stood since seating was limited and it was already a rather large funeral due to Duncan's rock-star-like status at the school. The football team was there, big stone pillars of meat that screwed up some of their faces every once in a while in an effort to remain a big stone pillar of meat. The cheerleaders were there too, dabbing at their eyes so their precious mascara wouldn't run. Other members of the school, members of the "in-crowd" were there too, mixed in with other jocks and athletes and all of them were fake. Jean cast her eyes around, at anywhere but Duncan. The girls, delicately dabbing at their supposed grief were still open to the possibility of hooking up with someone here. Or else they wouldn't care that their mascara would run and their foundation would smear and clothes would get rumpled. If his friends truly cared, they would break down and cry like the men they were trying to be, damn those who dare to say anything. But none of them did. Except for his family, whom Jean was sitting with. His mother cried quietly throughout the whole service, a sob breaking through and echoing around the church briefly. She was comforted by his father, silent sobs shaking his shoulders at some parts.

The procession past the casket came and Jean felt herself go pale. She swallowed hard and folded her shaking hands together as Mr. and Mrs. Matthews looked at their son one last time. Jean ran her hand along the smooth polished metal of the casket as she approached Duncan. She remembered their first date; he had been such a charming and sweet gentleman of an eleventh grader, cutely awkward in his attempts to woo her. He wasn't a bad person when he was away from his friends. And no one here knew that except for maybe herself and his parents. And now no one would ever know, because it died with him. Her stomach clenched painfully as she finally laid her eyes upon him, unflinching. Green eyes took in every nuance, defining death. He wasn't as pale as she thought he would be; he looked like he was sleeping. The morticians did a good job of covering up the stitches and the bruising, but then again, most of the trauma had been on the back side of Duncan's body.

The rest of the service passed by in a mixed blur of happy memories of dates with Duncan and the service until suddenly Jean was standing next to Duncan's grave, dropping a single rose onto the casket that was six feet below her. This was it. It all ended here. This was where he was going to spend the rest of eternity. _He was never going to come back._ Ever. It hit her like a ton of bricks: this was all _real_ and she wasn't going to wake up. It forced her to take a shuddering breath in. Oh God, how she just wanted to run. Run and run and run and just keep running, until her legs gave out and her body was left as a shaking, heaving, gagging mess on the ground. But she didn't. Jean took another shuddering breath in and slowly returned to her seat. This was the last time, the last time that she would slip into her cover and hide what she was truly feeling. It would get her home and there she would lock herself in her room and let herself fall apart. After today, though, she was saying goodbye to her old life. She had spent the past five or six years of her life trying to please everyone, be everything for them in order to keep things like this, things like Annie from happening. It didn't work and she was tired of trying. She was tired of trying.

She was tired of trying.

* * *

A/N: Hang on to your hats people, because it's about to get _real_ intense in here. Next chapter, a whole bunch of shit is going to happen, so make sure you don't miss it! And make sure you don't forget to review! I'll thank you in advance for being so kind  

Merce


	7. Anesthetize

A/N: A thousand, thousand thank-yous to the ever-so-wonderful and awesome Lucia de'Medici for beta-ing this. She has more talent and dedication for writing than I could ever hope to have in my pinky toe and if you have not read her work, then I strongly suggest you arrange time out of your schedule to sit down and do so. Now. I'll wait, her stuff is so much more entertaining than this.

_The Ripple Effect_

Chapter 7

Anesthetize

Kitty sat on the end of her bed and stared at the other side of the room. She had cleaned it up a bit over the interim days between when Rogue left and now. She had put away the clothes that had been strewn about and made Rogue's bed because she had thought that the Goth girl would appreciate it, even if she didn't say anything. But now…it had been over a week…and nothing. Nothing at all. Not a phone call, not one trace of her in town. Rogue had gone off for a day once or twice before, but she always came back. The Prof kept saying that the police were doing the best that they could and that he was still looking for her, but it was getting harder and harder to pile into Scott's car and go driving around for a couple of hours in the hopes that they would spot white among auburn or purple lips set in a scowl on a pale face. She heard through the grapevine at school, when rumors weren't rampantly flying about Jean and Duncan, that Rogue's friend Risty had gone missing too. Usually attached to these juicy tidbits was something about a kinky lesbian getaway or a vulgar elaboration on what they were doing together.

Kitty looked down at Lockheed in her hands and scowled. This was all the Professor's fault. He had seen it just like she had; she told him what Rogue was up to after she'd gotten tired of pandering to Rogue's attitude. She knew that had it been Scott or Ray or even herself doing the kind of things that Rogue was doing, even without the drugs, they would have been under virtual house arrest and given KP, whatever that was. But no. He always said that Rogue was just acting out, that she was having a hard time of it; that she, Kitty, needed to be more understanding; that if she didn't have any real evidence of Rogue's narcotic activities other than what the southerner said, then they couldn't do anything. After all, Rogue just liked to be perceived as a badass. She was really a good person on the inside. Kitty lay back on the bed and held Lockheed above her with her arms outstretched.

"Yeah, because an old man that sits in his office all day really knows a girl better than her own roommate," Kitty said, rolling her eyes. She let her arms fall to either side of her and hang over the edges of the bed. "They're all so afraid of touching her that they let her walk all over them, and look what that got us… She's probably dead in a gutter somewhere."

At that moment, Kurt teleported into the room with the usual sound of ripping holes in dimensions and a sulfurous puff of brimstone.

"Who's dead in a gutter somewhere?" he asked, his easygoing smile showing his pointed fangs.

Kitty lifted her head up slightly and looked down the length of her body at Kurt standing at the foot of her bed. "Rogue," she said and dropped her head back down.

"_Ach_, zis again?" Kurt took a few steps and sat at the end of Kitty's bed and placed his hand on her knee, looking back at her. "She's not dead. You know how she is; she'll come back in a few days, bitching about how harsh her punishment is."

Kitty sat up. "'You know how she is,'" she repeated with a small amount of sarcasm. "Yeah, that's right. _I_ know how she is, no one else does. You all just buy into that bullshit act she puts on."

"I don't zink it's an act, Kitty. She's—"

"Yes it is!" Kitty spoke over him. "You guys don't see her when she's got her guard down, you haven't stayed up until three am talking to her about everything and finding things out about her. You all just sit there and give her berth enough where you're all pressed up against the wall when she walks by! Did you know that she hates that? Did you know that it only made her feel more like a circus freak!"

Kurt brows drew together in consideration. "Rogue's not vun to keep quiet about zomezhing zhat's bozerving her. She vould had said somezhing."

"Well, she kept quiet about this. And the reason I never said anything was," Kitty continued, speaking over Kurt's opened mouth to protest, "Because it was usually followed by 'if you tell anyone, I'll drain you in your sleep'."

"C'mon Kitty, you should know better zhan to buy into zhat vun!" Kurt cajoled, giving the girl a playful shove. "Even I know not to believe zhat vun."

"Well, I never said I was totally immune to it," Kitty replied, her expression crossed between miffed and slightly hurt. "And part of the reason I never said anything was to respect her wishes; that's how good roommates get along."

They fell into silence for a few minutes; Kurt's tail gently swaying back and forth, a sign he was thinking and probably mulling over this new information Kitty had given him about his adopted sister. Kitty, meanwhile, sat and stewed in her own unhappiness, picking at a loose thread on her comforter with her face away from Kurt.

"This is the Professor's fault you know."

Kurt's sigh told her that he was now pass indulging her and assuaging her fears and was now getting annoyed. He put his elbows on his knees and his head the palms of his hands, fingers buried deep in his hair. This wasn't the first time that Kitty had pointed out the folly Charles Xavier had made when it came to Rogue, and he was getting more and more irritated by this whole matter.

"It is not his fault Kitty," he answered, sitting upright. "I zhink ze man knows vhat he's doing. He does have four PhD's."

"Yeah?" The brunette challenged, focusing her attention back on Kurt. "Well why didn't he, like, use some of that big brain power of his to keep a closer eye on Rogue, huh? How come I get a mental nudge if I go to, like, I dunno, the library instead of here after school and she comes home in, like, the middle of the night, stoned out of her mind and gets off scot-free?"

"Because every time he does zhat, she bitches him out und only runs furzher avay! If he did vhat you vanted, she'd have been gone months ago!" Kurt exclaimed, spreading his arms wide as if the answer was totally obvious.

"_He let one of his kids become a junkie_!" Kitty countered, pronouncing each word as if that would help drive the point home. "I think that proves he doesn't have the best judgment in the world, so why are you defending him? She's your sister for, like, crying out loud, I'd think you'd be a bit more upset by this."

"Upzet? _Upzet_? Of course I'm upset! But zhe man saved my life, he's saved countless ozhers, he runs an entire school nearly by himself! I zhink he has some experience making judgment calls not to mention zhat he's _human_, Kitty. Ve all make mistakes."

Kitty huffed out a sigh and glared at Kurt. "Well, if you're gonna screw up, why not, like, go big, huh?"

"_Ach_. I'm not talking to you if you insist upon being zhis vay." Kurt got up and on the third or fourth step away form Kitty's bed his vanished in a puff of Brimstone and smoke.

"Fine, I don't wanna talk to you either," Kitty said. She grabbed Lockheed from where she left him, held him in her arms and threw herself back on her bed and pouted.

* * *

They had laid low for a couple of days, only going out to party at night and coming home at 5 a.m. to sleep off everything. Risty's host parents had asked in a very loud voice why they were never awake when they got up to leave for work. Risty came up with the brilliant lie of having a free first period. It only needed to last a little while, since school would soon become summer break. After that it would become nothing but wild nights full of debauchery for them. They would bus it in to New York City and hit the clubs and after parties, not even remembering half of the shit they got fucked up on. Eventually they began seeing the same people on the same circuits, getting to know some people enough to have a place to crash a few nights a week. A couple of weeks of this and they never took a bus ride back to Bayville. When they weren't able to crash at a party-buddy's place, they either hooked up with some guys to crash with or roughed it in the park. The park nights were seldom though since they were both attractive girls. When they did have to spend the night in the park, they treated themselves to a big bag of some nice weed and spent the night watching the stars move.

Rogue often wondered why she hadn't run away sooner.

There were no stupid rules, no annoying roommates, no Danger Room sessions at the ass-crack of dawn, no one trying to make her into something she would never be. Xavier had tried to make her into some socially-aware do-gooder when she wasn't. She wasn't a good person, period. Hell, her powers got her halfway fucking there; what kind of person could she be if when anyone laid a finger on her, they collapsed, their memories and powers stolen from them? The other half was made up by the facts that she liked cocaine and weed and cigarettes. She liked breaking the rules just because they were there to break. She was the Rogue for a reason. What they did expect from a girl raised by a mutant-supremacist terrorist anyway?

"Risty! Why didn't we do this sooner?" Rogue shouted to her best friend over the music pumping through the loft apartment that they were currently partying in at the moment. Someone they knew through a friend of a friend split rent with some people here and they all hated the landlord's guts. Hence the loud music and the rule, 'Break as much shit as possible.' So far there were at least three splatter marks from bottles being thrown against the blue walls that Rogue could see, one of the wooden arms from the ceiling fan was missing and the gray couch, where it wasn't covered by that making out couple, had stains or the odd gash in the fabric covering it.

"No idea!" the girl with the purple streak in her hair shouted back. She was dancing close with some hunky looking frat boy that had been Rogue's up until fifteen minutes ago.

"Hey! You like Slayer?"

Rogue turned around, lips wrapped around the neck of a brown beer bottle and saw a tall, lean, brown-haired, blue-eyed, adorably emo-looking boy with a sex-a-licious amount of eyeliner on. She swallowed, looked down at her shirt and then back up to nod. "Fuck yeah, ya bet yer ass Ah do."

Cutely-emo boy smiled, showing perfectly white and straight teeth. "Awesome. Hey, you wanna get out of here? I know a guy who can get us into Wicked."

Damn it, she knew she had been missing out on something during all those years of no-touching. Wicked was one of the few Goth/Alternative/Whatever clubs that dotted the nightlife scene in New York City. They were hard to get into since there were only a few places like this, and a good number of people who didn't like, or were tired of the typical nightclub scene took up all the spots inside these clubs unless one got there very early or had an in. A tight t-shirt and nice tits got you everything.

"Ya serious?" She asked and he nodded. "Ah'd love ta."

He took her hand and they started to weave their way through the mostly frat-boy crowd. Before they got too far, Rogue twisted around and grabbed Risty's hand, dragging her along with them.

"Hey, can Ah bring my friend?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Let's go," the cute-boy replied without even turning around.

A few more of Cute-Boy's friends were waiting outside at the entrance of the building for them. They all exchanged names (Cute-Boy turned out to be Mark) and headed over to the nearest subway stop that would take then to the club. It was all the way over in fucking Brooklyn – of all places – but the guys weren't complete douches, so the ride over wasn't all that lame. The place itself was pretty dark on the inside, black lights doing most of the illuminating. There was an octagonal shaped bar with chrome stools around it in the center of the room. On the far wall, past the bar, was the DJ. He picked the songs that beat themselves into her head like a jackhammer and above him were racks of stage lights that flashed out over the thrashing crowd. There were silver stairs along the side walls, going up to balconies where people could sit and drink and socialize. Girls danced in PVC corsets, thigh-high boots and hot pants, all of it seemed to glow, in cages that were hung from the ceiling, dangling down just above the crowd's heads. Darkcore music was pounding through her head, crawling through her brain and commanding her to join the crowd of darkly dressed people floor-punching, 2-stepping and wind milling feet from her. She loved dancing in crowds; she supposed it was some way of making up for all those years of touching only through some sort of barrier. When she was out on the floor, thrashing to the beat, it was like she could feel everyone all at once. She felt accepted, she felt normal, she felt no fear so long as she was on something.

"Hey Risty, ya still got that 8 ball in your bag?" Rogue asked her friend, the mesh shirt under her ripped sleeveless Slayer shirt felt suddenly two sizes too small and itching incredibly.

"Yeah, why? Ya wanna split it now, luv?"

"Yeah."

The two girls excused themselves from the guys, who said that they were going to try and find a table. They found their way into the bathroom, which was all black; black walls, black floors, black toilets, black sinks. Black, black, black. There were no black lights in there, however, since all the various bodily fluids left in here would show up and would probably make the facilities quite disgusting looking. After some fishing around in her bag, Risty took out a little baggie that had white powder in it. Anticipation filled Rogue and she examined their two reflections in the mirror for something to do while Risty cut the lines.

Rogue looked about the same as ever, maybe thinner. Definitely nothing like what all those after school specials and anti-drug commercials said she would look like. She looked at the fishnet shirt under her Slayer shirt and felt her fingers itch to take it off, to be free of her curse. It matched the stockings that peeked out from under her skirt. She hated covering up on a night out, but alcohol seemed to not have the same effects on her brain as something like cocaine did. Not that that was a bad thing, it was just that it didn't let her get close to people. And if things were going to go well tonight, she would need to be able to get close to people. Risty looked fine too. They looked like a pair of regular Goth kids out for a night. So far, Rogue found that everything everyone had ever said to her about drugs was a lie.

"Hello? Earth to Rogue," Risty sing-songed, breaking Rogue's train of thought. "Lines are ready."

Rogue looked down at the counter and saw two sets of neat lines of cocaine waiting for them.

"What were you spacin' out about?" Risty asked as Rogue bent over with a rolled up bill in her nose, pinched the nostril she wasn't making use of, and inhaled deeply. That tell-tale sensation behind the bridge of her nose was already starting as she straightened up. She sniffed a few times, dabbed at her nose and pushed some sweat matted hair out of her sunken eyes. When the back of her throat went kind of numb, she bent down and did another. Already she could feel a sort of liquid confidence spreading through her and she smirked at her reflection. "Everybody is just so damn wrong about everythin'. No idea what they're talkin' about. Those dorks back at the mansion probably think Ah've OD'ed already. This is so easy."

"Don't have to tell me, love. You're preachin' to the choir."

"Yeah, no offense, Rist," Rogue said as they walked out of the bathroom, "but Ah'm so glad we left your host parents behind. They were really startin' ta piss me off."

"Oh, I know, me too!"

People were staring, but Rogue didn't care… Really didn't care, unlike all those times she said she didn't care and then when and stewed in her room about it. She welcomed their stares this time because she knew they weren't staring at her because of her dark makeup or white streaked hair or pale skin. They were staring because they saw a hot girl dancing with her best friend. Of course, the fact that she just took off both of her shirts and flung the fishnet one away before putting her t-shirt back on might have had something to do with it, but she was _hot_ - temperature wise that was; dancing was hard work and tended to make her sweat just like anyone else. There was also no doubt that she was hot in sense of attractiveness since every guy around her was too busy picturing her fine self without clothes on to pay attention to anything else_. Yeah, y'all wish ya could get at this_, she thought, smirking at a pack of guys who were admiring her and Risty a few feet away. Time was insignificant, Rogue caring only about the communal feeling of the dance floor and the songs drifting in and out of each other. In all too short of a time later though, she started feeling herself go down. The feeling was seeping back into the tips of her fingers and she could feel the sweat in between her toes in her boots again. She wandered her way off the dance floor and around the sitting areas, finally finding the boys and gratefully taking the drink they had ordered for her.

"You guys haven't seen Risty around here, have ya?"

"I think she's still down in that throbbing mass of people down there."

The boy who answered her had dyed black hair and green eyes. She had learned his name was Brian and he looked over the railing and down at the people below them, as if he would be able to find her friend. Rogue didn't like him all that much; she thought he tried too hard with the caked on eyeliner and obviously salon-cut hair.

Rogue cursed her luck. Risty should be coming down soon and also making the pilgrimage to the table, but Rogue wanted something now.

"Y'all got anythin' on ya that could pick a girl back up?" she asked Mark after finishing her drink which had been some kind of slushy concoction of daiquiri goodness.

"What do you need?" Mark answered her question with a question.

"Anythin'."

Mark nudged his other friend, who then started to dig around in his pockets. He also had black hair, but it looked more natural than Brian's. His eyes were brown and somewhat bloodshot; he was probably just as high as she was. He found whatever it was he was looking for and flung it toward her. The little plastic baggie landed in front of her and had a few pills in it, stamped with familiar symbols like the Volkswagen and Superman signs or just a plain old happy face or a heart. She hadn't gotten around to trying E yet, but she had heard only good things from it. She picked a pill that a cute little Snoopy picture on it and chased it with Brian's drink, stealing it from him with a wink.

Risty made it back to the table after that, having gone to snatch a drink from the bar. The guys persuaded Risty to try one of the pills in the little bag, along with some help from Rogue. The chatted for a while and at first Rogue didn't find anything these guys were saying particularly interesting. In fact, they kind of seemed like guys who were only into hardcore metal for the "creepy" Goth chicks because they thought it was kinky. But then things got really interesting. She thought she might be sick, but it turned out to just be some burps that provided those present at the table some low-brow humor. Things went streaky around the time the burping contest was proposed. She conceded to Mark though, since she became distracted by the heavenly feelings of her gloves against her skin. Soon she took them off and placed her hands on the table.

"Whoa," she giggled, "do you guys fuckin' feel this table? How did they get this so smooth? Holy shit." She grabbed Risty's hand and placed it on the table. "Feel that!" she laughed.

"Oh my god, that is amazin'. How did they do that?"

"Lord Rist, what do ya put on your hands? They're so soft!" She took Risty's hand again, this time grabbing the other one as well and threading her fingers through the other girl's. They sat there, touching each other's clothes, hair, hands, the table, the chairs and the boys for a while. Eventually everything felt like heaven, even the air against her skin; she swore she could feel it lovingly caressing her skin. It was almost like if she thought about it hard enough, she could levitate out of her chair. She was so occupied with the wonderful feelings her touch-deprived skin was giving her that she would have sat there all night touching everything and anything she could get her hands on if it hadn't been for the boys seeming to pull their heads out of their asses and start saying the most insightful and wonderful things. They were so nice and charming; they really got what everything was like for her. They really understood. And with the lights blurred and the rays lagging through the air like they were, their smiles were like pure love, their gazes like unconditional understanding. Rogue looked over at Risty during the conversation and felt more love for her than anyone in her entire life.

"Risty, you're the best person Ah have ever met. Ah know Ah can be a pain in the ass sometimes and Ah wanna thank ya for stickin' with me. Ah love ya so much and Ah don't know what Ah'd do with out ya."

Risty smiled like she had just been proposed to. "Oh my gosh, Rogue, that is so sweet of you! We should get one of those best friend charm bracelets or somethin'."

"Ah always lost them when Ah was little, we should get somethin' that'll stick with us for ever; just like us." Rogue stared off, her face blanker than a freshly erased chalkboard, for a long moment before her face lit up, "Matchin' tattoos!"

The purple-haired girl gasped, "Yes! Tattoos don't get lost!"

Rogue looked over at the three boys on the other side of the table and felt that they needed to be included in this as well. They were good people as well and she never wanted to forget them. It would be cruel and unkind not to include these beautiful and wonderful young men in this celebration of friendly love.

"You guys need to come with us," Rogue said, with as much earnestness as she could muster. She flexed her jaw almost incessantly, snuggling into her chair and rubbing her palms in circles on the table. "Y'all should be a part of this."

"After this song, though," Risty said, getting up and grabbing Rogue's and Mark's other friend's arm and leading them back down stairs.

This was like…religious or something. This was what God felt like. This is what she should have felt all those years ago when Irene took her to church and everyone was standing on their seats and shouting the praises of Jesus. God had reached inside of her brain and shown her what love was. He had reached down from the sky, opened up her skull and poured the vast completeness of heaven into her brain. Everything had been lifted from her and she felt light and airy. She knew. She knew everything and everyone and she loved them all despite their flaws. She loved society as a whole and loved them even more for all of their flaws. Her eyes rolled down from the nirvana of the lights into Brian's green eyes. She kissed him, trying to pour herself into him. He was so beautiful, so perfect. Just like Remy. He would understand; he would want her to kiss this guy. He would love her in spite of this; in spite of what had happened to him. Everything would be fine.

"Your skin is really pink right now. It's like your glowing." Mark smiled at her, keeping their foreheads close together while the music moved through them. They breathed it in as it swirled in the air around them.

"Ah need water!" Rogue yelped, suddenly aware of this desert in her mouth. Mark left her to get lost in the currents of the music and returned with two bottles of water. He opened up one and dumped some on top of her head. Rogue laughed and shook her head, feeling the water slide down each strand of hair and fly off into oblivion. She laughed and grabbed the other bottle of water.

"Water me like a flower!" she said, uncapping it and popping the cap into her mouth to chew on it. Mark obliged, shaking the bottle over her head. Rogue laughed more and twirled around and around, and then grabbed the water and guzzled it down until it dribbled out of the side of her mouth and down the front of her shirt. The trail of cool fire it blazed down her skin was amazing.

Mark said something to her and she couldn't quite understand him, everything having slowed down. Rogue nodded her head to it, giggling at how things wavered and smeared. She trusted him completely; he was a beautiful man, a good person.

A light hit her full blast in the face and everything dissolved into sparkling tingles. Tingling, tingling, tingling…

* * *

Scott Summers was sitting on the couch in one of the various rec rooms of the Xavier Institute. He sat forward on the couch, elbows on the knees of his tan khakis, hands folded together and his chin resenting on his hands. One might think he was seriously considering the artistic meaning behind John McClane's sweaty and blood-stained wife beater, or that this was the first time he had even seen a Die Hard movie.

He wasn't though. He had seen the movie at least seventeen times and it was just about the farthest thing from Scott's mind. Instead his head was stuck on a girl with red hair and a seemingly permanent morose look to her eyes. School was out for the summer, their last reprieve before they were thrown into the big and bad world of college. They should be having the time of their lives, celebrating the end of high school and letting off steam from the looming monolith of higher education that awaited them in late August.

That's what they should be doing, but all Jean had done since they had graduated, since Duncan's funeral really, was shut herself up in her room. Scott was worried about her; he didn't think it was healthy for her to be this sad for this long. She barely came down for meals anymore, left the house at weird hours and managed to come back without anyone noticing. Had her odd behavior not been preceded by Rogue's dramatic reaction to the prospect of rehab, Scott thought that they wouldn't be sure of where she was. However, as Rogue had decided to lose it first, the Prof secretly kept tabs on who left the mansion and when they came back along with upping the security system about ten-fold. It had been hell that first week it had starting working with all the squirrels running around on the grounds.

Scott hated to admit it, but he felt a little bad for what had happened to Duncan and his family. He hated that Jean had to go through the death of a very close friend yet again. Hell, he hated the fact that Jean even knew what it was like to deal with personal loss before this. What he hated the most though was that there was this secret little part of him that was glad Duncan was out of the picture. It was the same part that had felt threatened by Duncan because he had been moving in on "his girl"…even though they hadn't been going out, ever. Right now this part of him wanted to march up to Jean's room and shake her, yell at her that Duncan wasn't worth this kind of mourning and that she should just _get over it already_!

The young man with the red sunglasses on blinked and sat slowly back on the couch. _That actually might not be a bad idea_, he thought to himself. Of course, he would leave out the yelling, the demeaning of Duncan and the shaking, but maybe it was time to drag Jean out of that hole of misery she had made for herself. He had given her space, they all had, and they had all let her mourn in her own way. Scott may not understand why she was taking this so hard (he had thought their relationship hadn't been all that serious), but a month seemed like more than enough time for one to put their life on hold and grieve. Maybe it was time to give her a nudge towards putting her life back together?

Scott chewed the inside of his lip. But what if things had been really serious between her and Duncan? What if they had secretly been planning to get married or something after high school? He'd rather not go up there and act like a jerk and then get Jean pissed off and depressed. If that was the case, then he loved her enough to accept that and let her continue on with whatever it was she was doing up there.

_Still, probably not a bad idea to check up on her_. Scott got up from the couch and left John McClane to yell his signature tagline to himself.

After a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a couple of the fudgy brownies that Jubilee had decided to make earlier in the afternoon, he headed upstairs to Jean's room. It was only a Wednesday night, but the mansion was relatively quiet anyway; most of the kids were either still outside enjoying the warmth and extra daylight of summer, or already out for the evening at the movies or the mall. As he drew even with Jean's door, he could hear music faintly coming from inside. He knocked and waited a few minutes for Jean to answer.

"Who is it?" came from the other side of the door.

"It's me," Scott replied.

"I'm in the middle of something." There was a thread of annoyance in her voice and she didn't elaborate on what she was doing at all.

"Well, uh, I just thought you might like some brownies. Jubilee made them so, uh, they'll definitely rot your teeth, uh…" Scott trailed off and sighed, having the strange feeling that he was quickly losing the opportunity for Jean to possibly open the door. "They've got M&M's on them," he offered, adding a bit of pathetic-ness to his voice to try and tempt Jean to at least open the door.

He waited tensely for a few moments and just as he was about to walk away and have the brownies all to himself, Jean opened the door and peeked out.

"There she is." Scott smiled at her, which Jean retuned with a dangerously flat stare. "Alright, alright, I won't say anything," he quickly apologized, putting the hand that wasn't balancing the plate of brownies up in defense. "Just let me in so I can tell Storm you're still eating."

Jean rolled her eyes and walked away from the door, leaving Scott to push it the rest of the way open and close it behind him.

Her room was a mess, and the M&M's on the brownies were probably the most cheerful thing in the vicinity. Clothes were all over the place, the bed looked like the whole mansion had tried to sleep in it last night, and the curtains were drawn over the windows which added to the depressing mood. It also didn't help that Radiohead's 'Karma Police' was playing on her stereo, probably on repeat. Jean fit right in with the mood of the room; she stared at him with emotionless eyes, hunched over a bit and her arms, which looked thinner than usual, were folded in front of her belly. Her red hair was limp and greasy from being unwashed, and her usually flawless skin was dotted with a few pimples. Even her eyebrows looked a bit unkempt. She completed the look with a baggy gray shirt that hung off her body that sported a few mysterious splotches on it, along with a pair of burgundy sweat pants that Scott had never seen her wear – ever… Not even during that time she had strep throat for a week and a half, last year.

_Hoo boy_, Scott thought; thinking that maybe the goal of getting Jean out of her room was a bit too lofty and perhaps he should just settle for persuading her to take a shower or something.

"So, uh…" _I see you've redecorated_, was how he wanted to finish his sentence, but he had promised her he would not say anything about the current condition she was in. And knew that if he even broke that promise just a little bit, she would throw him out of the room. Literally.

"Go on, Scott. Just say whatever spiel it is you've thought up and leave already," Jean snapped, going over to her bed and threw herself down on the edge of it. She irritatedly exhaled and re-crossed her arms, stubbornly staring ahead, waiting for Scott to leave.

Scott placed the plate with the two brownies on it down on the nightstand next to her bed. "I'm not here to say anything. Can't we just, you know, hang out or something? We haven't done that in forever." _I miss you._

Jean looked up at him, a bit of a smirk tugging up at the corner of her mouth. "You sound pathetic, you know that?"

Scott shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know, anything for the team." He grabbed the plate of brownies and held it in front of Jean's face. "Here, eat one of these before you get thinner than Taryn."

Jean scoffed at him, "That, is low, Mr. Summers." She took one of the brownies and Scott took the other. "These aren't that bad," she said after the first bite, making any conversation to delay the inevitable uncomfortable talking. Plus, the chocolate would cover up the smell of Teacher's Whiskey on her breath. "Since Jubes made them I would have thought that they'd be packed with enough sugar to send me into diabetic shock."

"She probably had to make them so she didn't fail Home Ec or something."

A few moments passed while they snacked quietly, until, "Bit dry. Want me to go down a grab a couple of glasses of milk?"

"That's okay, I've got something to drink up here already," Jean replied, and then reached down to the floor between her bed and the closest leg of the nightstand. When straightened, a big bottle of Teacher's whiskey was in her hands.

Scott blinked and almost choked on his brownie. "Are you serious? Really? You've been sitting up here, drinking the Prof's whiskey the whole time?"

"You don't understand!" Jean defended herself. "It won't go away, Scott! Every time I close my eyes, he's there. I have dreams where he comes back from the dead and he just stands there and asks me 'why?'. There are other ones where he's trapped in that coffin, alive, trying to claw his way out and I'm watching him die all over again. I wake up in the middle of the night, too tired to realize what's happened and then something in my brain clicks and I remember that he's gone and he's not coming back because I _fucking froze_!" She screamed the last two words; the tears that had started trickling down her face becoming full blown sobs. "It's my fault, and I have to live with that every day. If I had used my powers to save him, I wouldn't give a damn if people thought I was some kind of freak! At least I wouldn't have this guilt!"

God, he hated seeing her like this. It broke his heart to see her in such pain. He wished that he could take it all away, make everything alright again. Even if it meant bringing back Duncan. He sat down next to her on the edge of the bed and put his arm around her. She leaned into him heavily, wearily, and took a swig from the bottle.

"It'll be okay, Jean. I promise it'll go away some day," he said into her red hair.

"Make it go away now," she muttered near his chest and gestured with the bottle. "This doesn't help all that much. It helps me go to sleep, sure, but I just wake up with a screaming headache and it's all still there."

Scott put his other arm around her in a sideways hug and held her. "I wish I could Jean, I really wish I could," he whispered into her hair.

Just then she leaned up and kissed him. Her lips were chapped and her mouth tasted like alcohol; nothing at all like the last time she had kissed him. But this one lasted longer than that last one. Long enough to where she placed her hand on his face and pushed him back on the bed. This was wrong and he needed to push her away before something bad happened. But instead of pushing her off of him, Scott's hands slid down to her hips as she laid herself on top of him. Her whiskey-soured lips moved off of his and down to his neck. Scott tried to speak, but found that this was too much like some of his dreams for his mind to work properly. He swallowed awkwardly and tried again.

"Jean," he panted, feeling his restraint crumble away with each passing second that she remained on top of him, "Jean, no. I can't do this, this isn't right."

She pulled back enough to where she would look down at him, her long red hair falling around their faces like a curtain. "Scott, please. I need this, I need to forget. Just for a little while. I promise I won't hurt you."

He could tell she was drunk by the slightly unfocused look in her eyes and the amount of alcohol he could taste on her. "That's not what I'm worried about." But in actuality, that was what he was worried about. If she woke up tomorrow morning and knew this to be a mistake, it would crush him. He loved her and to have this night together only to have it be ripped away in the morning…not to mention the fact that it would never really sit right with him. She was drunk and hurting; this was not the time for her to be making decisions.

"I know you've wanted this for a long time, Scott. I've seen it in your eyes. And you know what?" she asked him as her mind reached out to caress it's way down from his chest to lower regions, "I've wanted it too."

He closed his eyes firmly behind his ruby lenses. Not matter how much relief and elation he felt at hearing her say those words, he could not take advantage of her. "You're drunk," he stated out loud, more for himself than for her.

"I waited so long for you Scott." Was it his imagination or had her voice taken on this tone that was like erotic silk to his ears? "So long…But you never noticed—"

"Oh God, Jean, I did. I did notice." She was so warm and soft, the heat radiating through her clothes from her skin was doing nothing to persuade him from going down this path with her. "I just thought that you—"

"Shhh…." She placed her lips on his and silenced him with a soft kiss. The redhead currently atop him opened her mind to his, showing him what they could have. She wasn't manipulating him or even putting the barest hints of persuasion behind the images. She was just showing him what they could have.

His body betrayed him. His pants were tight and his hands were now holding her down to him instead of just resting on her hips. He clinched his jaw and swallowed hard. "Jean, what are you doing to me?" he managed to grind out between gritted teeth.

"Nothing." It was innocent in the same way a sexy girl sucking on a lollipop was innocent. "I'm just showing you what we could have, Scott, what you could give me. Please."

She showed him pictures of them tangled in the very sheets that they were on top of now, naked. Pictures of them wrapped up in each other, of fingernails digging into flesh, of her sleeping serenely in his arms.

It was the last image she showed him that did it for him.

"Give me the bottle." It floated over to them and Scott grabbed it out of the air, Jean sitting back on her heels so he could take a swig. He held it back out and it floated back over the nightstand. As his fingers buried themselves in red locks and their lips met in a searing kiss, Scott swore to himself that they would figure this out—somehow—tomorrow.

* * *

Rogue laid flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She blinked a few times, wondering for a brief second when the last time she had blinked was. She didn't know; she was feeling too wiped out to tell. She didn't even really know how long she had been back here lying on the bed and just staring off into the ceiling. Staring up at the ceiling was all her brain was able to handle. She hadn't even been able to get enough of her shit together to sleep with Mark. So he left her in here while everyone else was doing….something…in the living room. Risty was out there with the boys. She had heard a few odd noises while she had been in here, staring at the ceiling, that made her want to get up and see what was going on. She didn't though, since all her brain could handle at the moment was staring at the ceiling. The cracked ceiling with that puffy-looking stuff …popcorn paint or something.

There was a familiar sensation in her lower abdomen that was telling her she needed to pee. Could she do it? Her heart might explode if she moved, considering the way it was fluttering in her chest like it was a jackhammer and she was just lying there. And if that didn't kill her, she'd probably hit her head on something falling over because she was too dead to move.

_Probably wouldn't be the first time this bed had pee on it._ Rogue thought, thinking about letting things go like they would have if she was in the wild. She made a face, _but then Ah'd have ta sit here in it like some kind of crack head._ With a groan, Rogue pushed herself up into a sitting position and took stock of where she was.

It looked like she was in a hotel bedroom if the bland decorations and lack of any kind of personal effects told her anything. It was dark and she shivered at the draft from the air conditioner for the room humming to life and looked down at herself. No shirt, just a bra keeping top half from being totally exposed. Judging from that "free" feeling underneath her skirt, Rogue guessed her other unmentionables had been taken off somewhere between the club and here.

"Oh Lawd, what happened?" she muttered to herself, looking around the room for her shirt. She found it on the floor next to the bed, along with her panties. She put them back on as fast as the brewing hangover would let her before padding quietly over to the door and seeing if she could listen in on anything going on outside. While waiting for some sounds of speech to reach her ears, Rogue tried to remember where she was and who she was with. There was that stupid frat party, then meeting those guys, then that club. As scenes from the club went through her mind, she remembered the feelings that went with it; the euphoria, the lightness, the feeling of music entering her fingertips and filling her body until if felt like she was floating. Things went blurry after the club and while she had no reason to believe that something was wrong, there was that nagging in the pit of her stomach that told her otherwise.

_It's too quiet in here_, she thought, figuring out what was bothering her. It could be that everyone else was cracked out like she was, but usually someone left a TV on, or someone was snoring, or something. Rogue opened the door, wincing at the bright light that filled the small hallway between her and what she could see of the living room. There was the acrid smell of old vomit emanating from the bathroom door; it was open a crack as she passed by it on her right, while walking down the too-bright hall with its sea-foam green colored walls. She paused just before entering the living room, putting her back against the wall and listening.

"Is she breathing?" One of them whispered.

"Shit, I don't know." An agitated pause and then, "Fuck, what the hell are we gonna do?!"

"What the fuck is the matter with you, Mark?"

"Fuck off!" was the reply followed by some sounds of scuffle and then someone getting hit.

"I swear to God, you like 'em when they're half dead, don't you? You're some kind of sick dead-people fucker, aren't you?"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole. Bitch probably just had more to drink than we thought."

There were some sounds of amusement followed by, "Yeah, they were pretty wasted."

"Mark, go see if the other one is up yet."

"God, I hope so. Can't wait to see my load all over that mutie bitch's face."

"Really? 'Cause them being awake never stopped you before."

"Shut the fuck up Brian."

Fuck. What in the hell kind of mess had they gotten themselves into now? Something was obviously wrong with Risty and now these douches were going to try and gang-rape her or something. They had to get out of here; Risty might need some kind of help.

At that moment, Mark appeared in front of her. With only a second's hesitation, Rogue's fist shot out into his face, a loud crack filling the air and the boy reeled back, out cold. A girl didn't survive on the streets and party circuit without knowing how to throw a good punch. Usually they were aimed at some catty bitch who was too drunk for her own good, but occasionally there was a guy who was too drunk or too stupid to know what 'no' meant. Like now.

She had barely felled Mark when Brian appeared in her face, shoving her hard and yelling about something. She shoved him back just as hard and yelling just as many invectives back at him. He tried to hit her and she shoved his arm away from her, back handing him with a bare hand across his face. No rush of alien feelings or thoughts. Good. Or maybe not so good since she'd rather just drain this asswipe and get this over with since fighting was making her headache worse and she just wanted to go back to not moving. Brian rushed her and they both fell to the ground but the struggle there was not long as Rogue simply brought her knee up into Brian's crotch with as much force as possible. He made a noise akin to a dog getting its tail stepped on, and she roughly pushed him off of her. Rogue got to her feet and looked around for the last one of them. She found him when arms wrapped around her upper body, pinning her own down to her sides. She thrashed in his arms, trying to break free, but for being such a stoner, he sure had a lot of strength. He pushed her at full tilt into a wall, his body colliding into her from behind pushing all the air painfully out of her lungs and making stars dance in her eyes. Given the crappy state Rogue was currently in, the additional pain only served to make her angry.

Using her legs, Rogue pushed off against the wall and kept pushing back wards until they crashed into another wall, sealing the deal by thrashing her own head back and into the kid's face after making contact with the wall. His grip around her arms went slack and she walked away from him, touching the back of her head. It didn't feel like it was bleeding but it was going to require at least four Tylenol, later. She looked around at the three disabled would-be rapists and saw that Mark was beginning to stir. She went over and kicked him in the pants for good measure before going over to where Risty was laid out on the couch. There were a couple of empty beer bottles on the coffee tables and Rogue grabbed one by the neck and smashed it against the corner (away from Risty), making it into an effective weapon and turned to the three prone forms scattered across the floor.

"Ah swear ta fuckin' God, if any of ya'll try anythin', Ah'll stab ya in the fuckin' balls, ya hear me?"

She turned back to Risty and crouched down next to her friend. "Risty, c'mon girl, time ta get up," she said, shaking her shoulder. When there was no response, Rogue tried again. It took a third round of shoulder shaking and name calling until Risty groaned and mumbled something resembling, "Leave me alone".

"C'mon Risty, we gotta go," Rogue replied, taking her attention briefly off of Risty to eye the now rather pissed-off looking Brian, who was staggering to his feet while holding his crotch. Rogue awkwardly put her arm under Risty's upper back and sat her up. With a lot of coaching from Rogue and threatening looks thrown in the direction of the boys, they managed to make their way out of the room. The Southerner kept glancing over her shoulder as they stumbled their way through the ratty hotel, making sure they weren't being followed out.

Risty mumbled something incoherent as they found the pavement of the sidewalk, the orange tint of the sky telling Rogue that it was nearing dawn, if the sun wasn't up somewhere behind the buildings already. They were downtown now, somewhere near NYU if all the NYU symbols in the store fronts were any indication.

"Can't….th-thr-throw…hup…"

"It's gonna be alright, don't worry," Rogue said, more for her own reassurance than any kind of response to what Risty had attempted to say. The British girl kept fading in and out of consciousness and Rogue was more or less dragging her up the street at this point. Had Rogue been more sober and not so panicked, she would have thought it strange that no one was paying them much mind, chalking up their stumbling to a pair of sorority sisters that had partied too hard.

Eventually, somehow, Rogue wasn't quite sure, they found their way to a hospital. Rogue walked into the Emergency Room's entrance with Risty's arm around her shoulder, the other girl's head lolled down on her chest, out cold again. Two rather ragged looking girls stumbling into an ER at about 6 a.m. were bound to get anyone's attention and so Rogue was shortly relieved of her burden after walking in. One of the nurses that had helped get Risty onto a gurney had said something about a stomach pump after Rogue had relayed all she thought Risty had been on. With a shakily released breath, the girl with the white streaks in her hair lowered herself into a plastic chair next to a guy who was holding red and white bandages over one hand. She willed the bile in her throat back down and put her head in her hands.

This was bad. This was so fucked up. What the fuck had happened tonight? She didn't even remember half of it and Risty so wasted she couldn't even puke. Christ, they were in such deep shit. She let her head drop further from her hands, so that they were now in her hair and she was looking straight down at the linoleum floor between her knees. After staring at the dirty floor for a few minutes, she noticed that her knees were trembling. That realization brought on the realization that her whole body was trembling in her seat. She looked up, fingers like pillars blocking her vision, and saw one nurse gabbing with another who was distractedly grabbing papers from behind a desk and attaching them to a clipboard.

She had to get out of here; they couldn't know. Even if she used a fake name, they would know and they would find her and take it all away.

_But Risty…_

_She'll understand…_ Rogue tried to convince herself as two doctors whizzed by with a crash cart. She didn't look to see where they were going; she was too afraid that they were headed for Risty's room made of curtains. She fisted her hands in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could before rising up out of her chair and hurriedly walking out of the hospital. She broke into a run in the parking lot and didn't stop until she was on the subway. She fell into an orange plastic seat that smelled more like human filth than disinfectant and curled up into a ball with her arms covering her head. There were a few other people in the car, but they either paid her no mind or pointedly ignored her. They had their own problems to deal with rather than the sobbing girl in the corner. To them she was just another addict on the subway at six in the morning.

* * *

A/N: I know I'm not supposed to be Author's Notes at the beginning and end of stories, but hell, it's been so long! And the first one was used to give Lucia de'Medici the many thanks she deserves for beta-ing this for me. For those of you who are curious, you just read 18 pages (in Microsoft Word) of fanfiction. Probably the longest chapter I have ever written and I hope it makes up for the lack of Rogue that there has been at times in this story. Now you all know what she's been up to. And I guess I can't mention Rogue with out mention of Remy so, since I know I'm going to get asked this: trust me, he will show up. It's all in due time my special snowflakes. Hopefully during my lapse, none of your review-clicking fingers have become dusty and if they have, I would be eternally grateful if you brought them out of retirement. Parts of Chapter 8 have been written down manually and reviews might just prompt this writer to forgo her end-of-the-semester school work to transfer those parts into a Word document and expand upon them.

Hope this chapter finds you all well!

Mercedes

* * *


	8. Deep Shit

_The Ripple Effect_

Chapter 8

Deep Shit

Jean's eyes fluttered open to the relaxed feeling of finally having a good night's sleep after a long stint of being unable to sleep well, if at all. Some light was filtering in from the drawn curtains that hung over her windows, but even that muted light was enough to make her eyes hurt. Squinting through her lashes, Jean laid quietly for a few moments, her green eyes roving over what she could see of her room. Things looked…different somehow. As if things were all shades of gray before and now a little bit of faded color had leeched back into everything. There was this persistent, small little feeling deep down in her gut, barely even noticeable, but if she focused on it, it was like something was telling her that everything would eventually be okay.

_It's going to be okay Jean…It's not your fault…I hate seeing you like this…please, stop killing your self like this…I love you Jean…_

Whoa… the memory of a dream where Scott had been whispering those things to her and kissing her all over like his lips would heal the cracks in her soul came back strong. Very strong. Strong enough to make her doubt if it really was a dream.

It _was_ a dream...right?

Suddenly she became aware of how her mattress was dipping down a bit behind her back. Almost as if someone was lying in her bed with her. Slowly, Jean turned her head and then her upper body around to see the sleeping profile of Scott. Scott Summers was sleeping on his back in her bed, shirtless at the very least with an arm draped over his eyes and his hair sticking out in odd directions. Had she not been so terrified at the realization that her dream was not a dream, she might have thought that he looked pretty handsome laying like that in the filtered light. Instead, as soon as she realized what, or rather who, was behind her, Jean quickly turned her back on him again.

_Oh, great job Jean! Really, that's just awesome. He's the only person who'll still talk to you and what do you do! Fucking seduce him! And after having a freakin' pregnancy scare with Duncan! _Aloud, Jean sighed to herself. _...Oh god, I hate myself. _

She had to get out of here. She needed space and air and room to think; space, air and a room that did not have Scott in it. Quietly as she could, the redhead sat up in bed with her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. She waited a few seconds, her butt on the edge of her bed, and listened for any signs that she might have woken Scott up. Upon hearing no change in breathing or any other signs that would tell her he might possibly be awake, Jean began to ever so slowly ease herself off of the bed.

The bed creaked and a hand closed around her wrist.

Whirling around, Jean saw Scott, eyes closed and shirtless, leaning over on one arm to allow him the extra reach needed to keep Jean from leaving.

"Don't," was all he said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave, don't runaway."

Jean's shoulders dropped, "Scott, I-I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry but—"

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'mistake' I will run out of this room, screaming…and naked."

"This is not the time to be making jokes, Scott. God, I just…"she turned away, Scott letting her wrist go and Jean fisted her hands in her hair. "Oh God, I just went and screwed everything up, royally, not only for myself but I managed to drag you into it this time too!"

After a brief pause Scott said, "well, you didn't exactly have to hit me over the head and handcuff my arms and legs to the bed." Scott laid back down on the bed and folded his arms behind his head. _Though, if she wanted to do that, it would be fine by me._

A resentful '_I heard that_' resonated through his head in response.

Scott had the good grace to look sheepish. "Sorry, but, I mean, look at you."

"Stop it, Scott, this is serious," Jean admonished him, plunking herself down at the foot of her bed, putting her head in her hands. "God, Taryn was right. I really am some kind of man-eating bitch she-devil monster."

There was the sounds of sheets being whipped back from the bed and a brief moment later Scott was seated next to her, boxers and glasses firmly in place. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her so she could look him in the eyes.

"I _never_ want to hear words like that coming out of your mouth ever again, do you hear me? Never." Jean had the chance to blink and swallow before Scott continued on in a gentler tone of voice. "You were hurting, Jean. A lot. And I think it's a safe bet to say that you still are. Did last night happen under the best of circumstances? No, far from it. But…but I would rather have had last night happen than for you to be in here passed out and alone."

Jean was quiet for a few moments both taken aback at the altruism of Scott's statement and also letting it wash over her and sink in. "Why," she finally asked.

"Why what?"

"Why do you do this? Why are you always there for me, even after all the times I ignored you for Duncan or my soccer friends or other stupid things? Why are you so, so, so…_fine_ about this? Why didn't you get out of here and go back to your own room as soon as you woke up? Why are you here trying to make me feel better even though I ..._used_ you?"

"Because I love you Jean."

Jean rolled her eyes, but Scott didn't take offense at the motion, knowing that it was made more out of frustration from not being able to understand him than anything else.

"Scott," she said seriously, taking his hands into her lap and holding them there. "We've been friends since we were what? 10? 12? years old? Of course you love me, just like I love you and the Professor and Storm and everyone else here."

"No, you're not getting it," Scott took his hands from Jean's and held her hands in his. "It's more than that. I love all of you. I love your mind, who you are as a person, your body, the way you walk into a room and light it up. Everything about you." He paused, knowing that he was really throwing himself out there this time. This was different than all the other times he had made his feelings for her known. He was laying it all on the line; if she still rejected him after this then he was going to have to deal with the fact that it just wasn't meant to be between them.

"When I wake up, you're on my mind. When I go to sleep, you're still there. When something interesting or exciting or cool happens, you're the first person I want to tell. Even if it's just some stupid commercial jingle that I think would make you laugh. I'm still here not only because of our friendship but because it hurts me to see you hurting like this and I would do _anything_ to make it go away. Even if it meant bringing Duncan back and watching you be happy with him instead of me, I would do it. _That's_ how I love you."

There was a long, still moment of silence between them before Jean spoke.

"I…I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything because nothing you say is going to change any of that. Believe me, I've tried."

Jean blinked rapidly a few times and covered her hand with her mouth to muffle the sob that escaped. Tears overflowed and Jean shrunk in on herself causing Scott to draw her close and put his arms around her.

"What is it? What's wrong now?"

"Scott, I can't," she sobbed. "I can't do this right now. It's-It's too much—it's too soon! Duncan just—and now you—"

Realization dawned upon Scott's face, "Oh no. No, no, no," he soothed her, "I'm not asking for anything from you; I would never…"

_But what if I want to? Oh dear God what is wrong with me?_

Scott didn't think he was supposed to hear that, but he wasn't sure. She was dealing with a lot of stress right now and it could have caused her control to falter for a second. The more baser parts of him, the parts that nature and evolution hadn't updated in about a million or so years, were delighted that Jean had just thought that of him, regardless of whether she meant for him to hear it or not. However, the Scott Summers of the here and now was stronger than the left over bits of caveman and was thusly able to act like he hadn't heard a thing. He may have been able to be swayed of his convictions last night (Jean was a rather good temptress after all) but not on this. Not when she was completely torn over every feeling that entered her heart. If she did decide later that she did want something from him, he would let her come to him. He was used to it by now he supposed, for it was what he had always done when it came to Jean Grey.

So it shouldn't be hard, right?

x.x.x

It would only seem logical that after that night of attempted date-rape and the near death of her best friend, things would get better for Rogue or that she would take it easy for a while.

…

Not even close.

Instead she sought after oblivion harder than ever before. Paranoia kept her from going to the hospital Risty was at, so the Mississippi native really had no idea if her friend had lived, died or got shipped back home to England. It was just one more thing piled upon a whole host of others that drove Rogue to new levels of self-destructive behavior.

For Rogue though, it wasn't something as academic as slapping on a label of 'self-destructive behavior'. She just needed to make the pain go away. Being sober just genuinely sucked. Who would willingly want to feel like their head was exploding, their nerves set on fire, their muscles turned to molasses, and blinded by any amount of light upon waking up? And then add throwing up, (or, worse that that—dry heaving), for an hour, on top of all of that? Not to mention that all the things she was trying to stave off came back. Her damned curse of a power, the mess she left back at the Institute, Kitty, Kurt, _Risty_…

Remy.

He was the big prize; the giant stuffed animal won at the carnival of fuck-ups. Whenever he started haunting her thoughts, wondering if he had ever woken up, if he had died, if he hated her for leaving, the terrible things she imagined he would say to her….that was the hardest thing to kill. Ecstasy, Ketamine, Wet Sticks, Cocaine, Liquor, Acid, Pot, Beer, Shrooms, Salvia….anything really and the more of it taken, the better. She would just keep taking and ingesting and inhaling and smoking until reality became a pleasant hum of nothingness so loud that she couldn't even hear herself think, couldn't even feel herself feel. A complete and total disconnection from herself and reality. Utter nothingness was what she chased after and it was what she got a lot of the time.

Except for the times she would be stuck in a corner, eyes wide with abject horror and tears streaming down her face. Screams would tear her throat raw because spiders or demons or aliens or death were crawling on the floor, the ceiling, the walls. All of them coming for her, crawling on her, wanting to suck her brains out through her eyes or something equally terrifying.

All of this at least make waking up an adventure. It was a surprise to see if she was inside or outside, on a bed, couch or mysteriously stained floor, with people or completely alone.

Right now Rogue was standing in front of an unfamiliar pizza shop, just having found her way outside from the cheap apartment that was above it. She looked around, squinting in the bright sun, and saw a couple blocks over the looming monolith that was an old high-rise public housing building. Or at least, it had been public housing in the past. Now it was just a mostly empty, ridiculously cheap apartment building that attracted nothing but gangs and drugs. Looking up at it made her head swim and spin and her vision go cross-eyed.

Rogue managed to stumble over to the curb before throwing up. Looked like there was something left in her stomach after all.

She had been to that old high rise once or twice before and even she thought it was a bad place to get a score. It was the headquarters for one of the local gangs so most of it's few residents were armed and incredibly possessive of their territory. They also had no qualms about shooting or maiming someone just because....well, just because really.

Then again, if she didn't get something, an aspirin—anything—soon, she was seriously going to die of this headache that was jack hammering it's way through her brain.

x.x.x

Rogue staggered out of the elevator and straight into the wall directly across from it, hunched over and coughing while trying to suck in great lungfuls of air. The air here was so much better than in the elevator, where she had just spent an agonizing ten minutes trapped with the stench of what was probably human shit, piss and vomit. Not to mention the graffiti that was every slur under the sun, torn ancient upholstery and blood spatter. Compared to that hell hole, the mingling scents of old beer, old weed and piss was like heaven.

She had to admit though, she was a little bit proud of herself. At least she hadn't thrown up again. Just dry heaves.

Once she was able to stop coughing from the horrendous elevator, Rogue righted herself with a grunt and started down the dusty, decrepit hallway. The place might not have been _so_ bad if there if it wasn't for the spray paint, trash and smell. She stopped in front of a door that was marked with a giant marijuana leaf spray painted on it in black. She knocked on the door.

_God, Ah hope there isn't some kind of secret knock. Ah'd like not ta get shot at this week._

After not hearing anything come from the other side of the door for a few moments, Rogue said, "Look, Ah just need a hook up. Some four doors? Maybe a Valium? Ah really need it."

Silence.

"Fuuuuuck," Rogue groaned to herself, letting her head fall forward to thunk on the door. She was going to die from this hangover. Slowly she pushed herself away from the door and turned to leave, definitely intending on taking the stairs down.

"Yo, I got what you need."

Rogue turned to see that the door had opened a crack and she could see a sliver of the man inside. He had the stereotypical gangster look going on with a wifebeater and baggy jeans on. While she had been looking him up and down, he did the same to her. Apparently he liked what he saw because he opened the door wider.

"C'mon in."

She followed him inside to see a rather spartan looking room with a mattress in the far right corner and a table to the left. On the table was a host of all different kinds of drugs. Bags of weed, uppers, downers, Ecstasy, ketamine...

...and a massive pile of cocaine.

It had to be at least a whole fucking kilo. That big beautiful pile of white powder was just sitting there, waiting to be divided up and sold on to the streets. All thoughts of headaches and hangovers left Rogue's mind at the sight of it. God, how she wanted to just bury her nose it in and snort it until she couldn't even fucking move.

"What'cha need?"

"Some of the coke", she immediately replied, never taking her eyes off of the cone-shaped pile of white powder sitting on the table.

"How much?"

_All of it._ "Dime bag?" Rogue patted herself down, not hearing the distinctive crinkle of money stashed somewhere on her person. _Shit_. Slowly, she looked back up at the dealer.

Ten minutes later, Rogue buried her nose into that pile of cocaine, pulled it into her for all she was worth while the dealer roughly pulled her pants down and thrust into her.

x.x.x

Intensive Care Room 16 was a quiet room. No one ever came by to visit, except for maybe a nurse on her rounds or a doctor with a group of green medical students. Those weren't really visitors though. More like curious minds passing through to gawk under the guise of professional medicine.

Well, there had been that _one_ visitor.

A girl, no older than 17 with a white streak in her hair and looking like she had just seen her own personal hell open up in front of her. She visited the patient in room 16 not long after he had gotten back from emergency surgery. If the now-dead rumors had been correct, a woman from that school for the gifted had come and taken the young lady not long after that.

No one had come to seen him since.

Dr. Cecilia Reyes knew that she shouldn't personally care about this patient more than any other patient in her care. It was just that he was so _young_ with apparently no one in the world to watch over him or even care whether he lived or died or was confined to this room for the rest of his life.

So it started with her eating lunch with him about once a week or so. She would come into the room, turn on the TV if it wasn't already on, and eat her lunch in one of the visitor's chairs. At first she would never speak just in case he was able to hear her. Because really, who would want to involuntarily listen to a complete stranger babble on about their life?

As the patient in room 16 passed into a presumed vegetative state, however, Cecelia began reading to him. She wasn't quite sure what drove her to do it, maybe it was a vain hope to keep what brain functions were left in tact or maybe it was just pity. She started out small; magazines from the hospital's pharmacy or one of those ridiculous religious pamphlets that promised eternal peace on a commune in rural Alabama. It occurred to her after a short while though that as a man of 19 years, he might not care about how some housewife in Minnesota lost 116 lbs in a year or which celebrity had only done 36 hours in jail for nearly killing a person while driving intoxicated for the third time. So she started bringing in novels.

Today they were starting _Timequake_ by Kurt Vonnegut.

Cecelia read, and, as usual, Remy (she learned his name from his chart) was completely unresponsive. She made it about half way through the chapter before her beeper interrupted them, notifying her of the 6 car pile-up from the highway that was headed right for Bayville General's Emergency Room.

…It started with a fluttering in front of his eyes, almost like black and white was flashing repetitively and very quickly in front of his eyes. Remy spent a few moments trying to figure this strange phenomenon out before realized that he was actually _seeing _for what felt like the first time in a long time. Then he realized that he was realizing and that he was conscious and his eyes opened upon a drab looking room and light that seemed to be coming from some where right over his head. Blinking slowly a few times his eyes roamed around as much as they could. …This wasn't the party…or the park….

_Mère sainte de Dieu_! He had been shot!

Remy's hands immediately flew to his chest, but his chest told him that nothing had landed there. All he was doing was flexing his fingers and hands in a weirdly lame manner.

What the fuck was going on? Where was he? Why couldn't he move? Why did his eyes hurt?

…_What the fuck was in his throat?_

Immediately Remy began making a wet choking noise, his body re-taking the natural function of breathing and as such, trying to fight the machine that had been inflating his lungs for him for about the past month and a half. He panicked and as a result, his heart rate shot up enough to set off some kind of alarm. _Dieu, _this was it, he was going to die. He was going to die because of whatever was in his throat. He was so going to haunt whoever's dumb ass put that in there. Seconds later two nurses and a doctor came in, the doctor grabbing his chart and the nurses fussing about with the machines around him. One of their faces loomed over him, a pretty lady with curly brown hair and brown eyes.

"Remy, can you hear me?" she asked in an overly-loud voice.

Remy nodded, wishing he could do so more vigorously and that he could just move his hands to yank out whatever was in his throat that was choking him.

"On the count of three, Remy, I want you to blow as hard as you can, okay? Like you're blowing out a birthday cake that's really far away."

She counted and on three, Remy did as the nurse told him and the most disconcerting and disgusting feeling of something moving up from about his breastbone up into his throat and finally out of his mouth overtook him. He took a raspy, gasping breath before dissolving into a fit of hacking wet coughs that made him realize just how much his throat _hurt_.

A few moments later they subsided and Remy relaxed into the bed, trying to catch his breath.

"Better?" the nurse asked.

Remy swallowed and was barely able to rasp out a '_merci_' at an audible level.

"I'll get you some water to help make the raspiness go away."

Still trying to catch his breath, Remy looked around the room. Hospital. He was in a hospital. But something...something was off...

"Do you know your name?"

Remy's attention focused on the doctor standing at the end of his bed, looking over his chart with great interest. He was balding with thick rimmed glasses and a white lab coat on.

"Remy LeBeau," he replied.

"When is your birthday?"

"August 15th."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Amazing..." the doctor mumbled to himself, his pen making scratching noises on the clipboard as he quickly wrote down some notes. "Tell me, how much do you remember of what happened?"

Remy thought for a few moments. "I was at a party....then I was runnin' from the police with Logan...then we was in the park, surrounded..." He couldn't go on as the memory caused a lump to form in his throat. The feeling of the life in his body and bones being slowly replaced by death was an incredibly eerie and dreadful feeling. Rogue's tearful face swam in front of his minds eye and he felt his chest constrict. He would have nightmares about those two things for weeks. He needed to find Rogue, to tell her that he was OK, that he wasn't dead like she thought.

Remy shook himself away from his thoughts. The shock of waking up and the memories of how he wound up here were too much and it was causing his eyes to start to water. He returned his gaze to the doctor at the foot of his bed. He didn't like the look the doctor had about him. He wasn't all that thrilled about being in a hospital, and having a doctor standing at the end of his bed, scribbling furiously with an excited glint in his eye only enhanced his non-thrilledness. Soon as he was able to move properly, he was so out of here.

* * *

A/N: Well, it's certainly been awhile, hasn't it? I can say though that in my time away, I've managed to get myself a college degree. And rejected from graduate school. And survived the almost-collapse of the world economy. So perhaps you'll keep these in mind before you start throwing rocks and rotten tomatoes at me for taking so long to update? Please?

I do have to strongly suggest, though, putting this on your Story Alert (or even placing me on your Author Alert list) as the process to re-apply to graduate school begins soon. Like, end of this week soon. Wouldn't want you to lose your place in the story after all.

MW


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